The wooden beams that supported the second floor of the of the storehouse jutted through the stone and clay facade of the building. The construction may appear crude to some, but right now it suited Pengfei perfectly. He suspended a small sack filled with oats from one of those struts then set it to swinging.

  He stepped back and forth, keeping the little bag at the end of his fist’s range, occasionally throwing a punch to confirm his distance. It had snowed lightly during the night and now the ground crunched and slid beneath his feet as he shuffled over the white flakes.

  Qingfang opened the door and ducked through it into the early morning sun. He carried the straight sword, held it up for Pengfei to see.

  “May I?”

  “Sure.”

  The hulking disciple gripped the sheath in one hand and drew the blade with the other. He gripped the hilt delicately in his meaty palm and moved gracefully through the forms of ‘Swift Dragon Lightning Sword’.

  “It’s not fair.” Pengfei lamented after watching the display.

  “What’s that?”

  “You must be the strongest disciple in the sect, and on top of that you have the best swordsmanship.”

  Qingfang waved the compliment off, “Haha… there’s plenty of disciples who are better. I’m sure your friend Neng will surpass me soon enough, being a disciple of Elder Weidao.”

  “What? His disciple?”

  The confusion was clear enough on Pengfei’s face that the larger boy felt the need to explain.

  “Yes. I mean, we’re all disciples of Kunlun, but some of the elders have begun taking direct students to pass on their martial arts. I thought, since Neng was working for him in the library… but maybe I’m wrong.”

  “It’s just work. As far as I know, anyway.”

  “Ah.”

  Seeing the youths cease their frenetic movements, Horse approached and bayed at Pengfei impatiently. He rubbed the mare’s neck absentmindedly, lost in a reverie.

  --Is that why Neng was assigned to the library? It does seem like Weidao has been paying extra attention to him during the evening training…--

  He was snapped out of it when Horse headbutted him in the chest.

  “Alright, you’re ready, I get it.”

  Pengfei set about the process of saddling his mount. He found a tent in the storeroom and slung it across Horse’s back along with an extra blanket.

  Qingfang looked over the gear Pengfei had packed and asked, “Are you going to sleep in the wilds tonight or return to our humble abode?”

  “Ha…hopefully I’ll make it back here. It’s spooky as hell out here at night.”

  “That it is.”

  Pengfei filled his waterskin at the stream, retrieved some food, then hopped into his saddle. Qingfang handed the sword up to him and the boy secured it to his waist with a nod.

  “Maybe your friend will be awake when I get back.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. He prefers his dreams to our company.”

  Pengfei shrugged, but did not give much mind to the lazy disciple sleeping the day away in the storehouse. Instead, he waved to Qingfang.

  “See you later.”

  “Safe travels.”

  ******************************************************************************

  The goal of Pengfei’s survey was two-fold. First, find a chokepoint in the valley that could be blocked off with a fence to contain a herd of horses. Second, identify any areas in the eastern and western ridges where animals might slip out.

  The western ridge was not a problem. Its steep slope provided a natural wall to enclose the valley for all but the most adventurous of men and beasts. And there were several candidates for the necessary chokepoint. All that was left to check was the east.

  He dismounted occasionally to walk while Horse grazed and drank from the river running through the valley. During one such break, he hefted bow he had found in the sect’s armory and looked about for prey. A rabbit. A mountain goat. But there was nothing. He aimed at the moon, pale in the daytime sky.

  “Got ya.” He said to the celestial body. Then he turned to Horse. “You know, it was my mother who taught me to shoot a bow.”

  Horse perked up her ears, looked up for a moment but went back to grazing.

  “My father was usually occupied elsewhere. Even when he wasn’t, he didn’t have much interest in teaching me anything.”

  Pengfei nocked an arrow, drew it tight against the bowstring, held it there for a second before relaxing again. The draw weight was immense compared to the hunting bows he had used growing up.

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  “She taught me to shoot, to hunt, to ride. All so that I could fit in with the other ‘young masters’. She taught me most everything, really. Of course, I couldn’t tell anyone that it was her who taught me… she told me to keep it a secret so that the other children wouldn’t ridicule me.”

  Horse came to nudge her head against Pengfei’s back. He turned at the mare’s prodding and rubbed her neck.

  “She’s Mongolian, you know? She has to hide it. Wouldn’t do for a nobleman to be married to a ‘barbarian’. As if there’s anything barbaric about her…”

  He reminisced about the afternoons spent with his mother. When they were at home, after his sister had left for Emei, they were each other’s only company. A lonely boy and a woman hidden away from polite society. He shook his head to dispel the bittersweet memories.

  “Anyway, she said the Mongols are the best riders, have the best horses. I don’t think she’d like you very much.”

  Horse brayed, in what Pengfei decided was a laugh for his little joke. He mounted and pulled the reins back to turn the mare’s head towards the south.

  “Come on. It’s getting late.”

  They leisurely trotted back the way they had come, but this time along the eastern ridge. At this pace it would be dark before they returned to the storehouse and the disciples tending the herd there, but Pengfei was unconcerned. The terrain was easy and he felt secure in the grey robes of Kunlun, even against the black-clad men who roamed the mountains.

  --It’s worked so far, at least.--

  A shiver went up his spine, but Pengfei pushed recollections of previous encounters from his mind, focused on the job at hand.

  He found the situation on the return trip to be much the same as it had been on the journey out. The ridge formed a nearly impregnable wall. A perfect natural pasture.

  “Except for that…”

  Up ahead, the earth was not just a steep grade, it was a vertical cliff. And cut into that cliff was a narrow canyon.

  He steered Horse closer. The grassy turf of the valley gave way to a rockier terrain. The gravel slid and crunched beneath hooves. It looked like a dried-up riverbed.

  “Maybe the water runs through here in the spring? Joins up with the main river down there.”

  Pengfei surveyed the formation. Looked down the canyon. It was shady, the rock walls blocked out some of the afternoon sun. But it was still fairly bright within.

  “If it’s a stream, we won’t be able to keep it blocked year-round. Could be an issue.”

  He looked, thought, and after several moments decided. Pengfei dismounted, considered tying Horse to a boulder, but ultimately decided against it.

  “Don’t wander off. I’m just going to take a quick look.”

  He left the bow and quiver hanging from the saddle but kept the sword on his waist.

  The narrow canyon was difficult to navigate, the main reason he had left Horse behind. At its mouth, it was just a few arm-lengths wide, the ground all boulders and gravel. Pengfei hopped from one rock to the next, in between rare patches of flat dirt. When his legs were not powerful enough to make the leap, he sat on his butt and slid, or climbed hand over hand to scale some obstacle.

  Farther in, the rock walls opened up wider. Pengfei stepped out from the shadows and into the sunlight. It reflected off a pool of water.

  --A spring?--

  He shaded his eyes against the glare and saw that the water was shallow and still. A leftover reservoir, lending credence to his suspicion that a stream would run through here after the first melt of spring.

  He was about to make his way around the edge of the pool and continue his exploration of the canyon when something caught his eye. A shadow of a boulder, on the other side of the water. But there was more to the darkness than just shadow. Someone was sitting there.

  Someone in black robes.

  ******************************************************************************

  Pengfei froze. He had not been moving quietly on his way here. There was no way he had gone unheard. But reason didn’t factor into it. Pengfei froze on instinct. Stood motionless and slient.

  No movement came from the figure across the water. They were not far away from each other, the pool was not wide. Still, the man in black did not turn to face Pengfei, did not move at all. His head was lolled against his chest.

  --Sleeping or…?--

  The man’s hand, palm up and out from under the shadow of the boulder, was covered in bright red blood.

  “What the fuck is going on with these guys…?” Pengfei whispered under his breath.

  He inched over to a nearby rock an took cover behind it. From there, he surveyed the area. The canyon walls, the rocky path in front and behind him. He listened intently for any sound but only heard wind.

  Several minutes passed.

  It became open knowledge within the Jin disciples that Pengfei had found a human leg on the mountain path near the sect. The elders had given a brief, and somewhat plausible explanation. A wanderer had fallen from a cliff or caught in a rockslide, been picked apart by scavenging animals.

  Of course, it was not enough to convince Pengfei, who recognized the black clothing of the mysterious killers he had encountered before. But he did not share his disbelief widely. He had already been discouraged by the elders against spreading rumors about the strangers.

  But now, here, he was faced with another one of them. Seemingly … dead? It was hard to tell from that far away, but…

  --Seems pretty corpse-y to me.--

  He stood slowly. Stepped from around his cover. Once he was upright, he drew his sword from its sheath and crept forward. He skirted the smooth, glassy, water to the other side of the pool.

  The black-clad man did not move.

  When Pengfei was just a few steps away, he could see that the man was ripped to shreds. Several large gashes crossed his chest, exposing muscle and bone. The blood that had flowed from the wounds had already soaked into the dirt and the red wetness on the clothes and body looked thick and sticky. Mostly dried. A few flies buzzed about.

  --How long does it take for blood to dry like that? Hours? A day?--

  Pengfei poked the man’s shoulder with the tip of his sword. It came away bloody but it elicited no reaction. Only then was the Kunlun disciple comfortable enough to move closer.

  He crouched next to the corpse, inspected it. In addition to the gashes, there were two large punctures in the abdomen, and several smaller ones in a row.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  The man’s face was distorted in death. Strangely slack jawed with vacant, open eyes. It was possible this was one of the men Pengfei had encountered, spoken with. But he couldn’t recognize anything in the appearance now. He took no pleasure in the man’s demise. In fact, he was more unsettled by the mysterious nature of it.

  “What is going on here?”

  Pengfei had no theories about the dismembered leg he had found previously, or the manner in which its owner had perished. A fall, an attack… But he could say for certain that this body had not died in a rockslide. Limbs, head, and back all looked intact. It was only the flesh of the torso that had been ripped away.

  There was no weapon on the man. Pengfei did not want to touch the body, but it did not look like the robes concealed anything large. He stood and inspected the surrounding dirt.

  A strip of blue stood out, bright enough to be recognized even in the shadow, just a few strides away. The boy bent down and picked up a small black satchel. The blue ribbon tied around one strap was the only color.

  Pengfei held the bag out to the corpse. “Was this yours?”

  Inside, there was some sort of plant. An herb, perhaps. Plucked from the ground recently. Dirt still clung to the large root that had been hidden beneath the ground. Some grain balls not unlike the ones Pengfei ate at the sect. A few blank pages of dirty paper, ink sticks, and a brush.

  He slung the bag across his chest then slid it around to his back. There was a blood trail leading away from the body. Pengfei followed it further down the canyon.

  Fear and a morbid curiosity did battle in his mind.

  --Just over the next rise.--

  He climbed up the rocks but didn’t have to go far. He stepped up on top of a large flat boulder that formed a giant table stretching between the two sides of the valley. It was covered in more of the sticky dried blood, a huge quantity of it.

  There was a single set of hand and footprints smeared in the red where the victim had scrambled through his own serum.

  The canyon continued beyond but past here there was no blood, no obvious tracks.

  --It’s like he was dropped here half dead…--

  His curiosity was satisfied, at least to the extent where fear and good sense could prevail.

  --Time to head back.--

  Pengfei turned around, hopped down from the little mesa. There was still blood on the tip of his sword. He wiped it on one of the few clean patches of the dead man’s clothes then slid the blade back into its scabbard.

  Pengfei took a final look at the deceased. The man was not a friend. He may have wanted to kill Pengfei and his fellow disciples. But the boy still felt melancholy looking down at the corpse. It was quiet, mundane, sad.

  He was pensive on the walk back. The shadows were a bit longer but there was still plenty of light. In truth, he had not been in the canyon long, but retracing his steps seemed to stretch on for some time.

  He kept his head down and watched his steps on the jagged rocks. So he didn’t see the man in black standing just a few steps in front of him. It was the stranger’s voice that alerted him.

  “Who are you?”

  “FU – “

  Pengfei began a curse but reached for his sword instead of finishing it. He moved to draw his blade but stopped when the man made no aggressive movements.

  They stood inspecting each other in silence. The man shifted uncomfortably, a large bloody wound visible on one leg. The man’s hair was tousled, his face dirty. He looked like he had been through a battle.

  “Kunlun…” The figure muttered, eyeing Pengfei’s grey robes.

  But Pengfei’s face also flashed with recognition.

  The man’s right sleeve hung oddly. The hand missing. The hand that Zeng Zihao had cut off months ago.

  The black-clad man who had killed Ma Feng. The half-remembered name one of the strangers had shouted.

  “Guoyu.”