Chapter 1: The Encounter at the Zen Courtyard
The rain in Yangzhou always carried a clinging, melancholic sorrow of spring.
The upturned eaves of Zhishan Zen Monastery loomed out of the misty drizzle like a slumbering leviathan. Inside the main hall, candlelight flickered, casting long shadows against the back of Jing Shisanniang. She wore a pale pink silk skirt cinched at the waist, her jet-black hair loosely pinned with a soft scarf, a few stray strands framing her cheeks. Kneeling on the rush mat, her silhouette appeared as fragile as rice paper, yet her spine remained rigid, betraying a stubborn resilience.
The rhythmic thud-thud of the wooden fish accompanied the old monk’s low, resonant chanting. Jing Shisanniang fingered a string of agarwood prayer beads, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. It had been ten years. Every year on this day, she came to commission a grand memorial service for a husband who had long since turned to dust. Outsiders praised her as a paragon of wifely devotion, unaware that she sought to wash away the stench of copper and the aura of slaughter accumulated from years of ruthless commerce in the incense-heavy air.
“Mistress, the rain grows heavy.”
A clear voice broke the silence from behind, carrying a scholarly air without being intrusive.
Jing Shisanniang did not turn, but her fingers paused on the beads. She recognized the resonance in the voice; it possessed a vitality found in martial artists, not frail scholars.
“Thank you for the reminder, Master,” she replied, her voice cool as jade dropped into a lake.
“I am no monk of this temple.” A soft laugh followed. The speaker stepped forward, standing beside her. “My name is Zhao Zhongxing, from Wenzhou. I sought shelter from the storm. Seeing your devotion, I dared not disturb you, but with the wind and rain howling outside, a lady alone here seems… desolate.”
Jing Shisanniang slowly turned her head. She was met with a lean, handsome face. The man was in his late twenties, dressed in a worn blue robe that, despite its shabbiness, could not hide the heroic spirit in his brows. He held no umbrella, his shoulders damp from braving the elements.
“Master Zhao is thoughtful,” Jing Shisanniang said indifferently. “I am the Jing widow, here to pray for my late husband. The living must be strong; where is the desolation in that?”
Zhao Zhongxing’s gaze swept over her. Though dressed in mourning white, a gold hairpin with swaying pendants glinted in her hair, hinting at hidden wealth. His interest piqued, he clasped his hands in a salute. “So you are Mistress Jing. It is said the salt merchants of Yangzhou are the wealthiest under heaven, with the Jing family at the pinnacle. I did not expect the matriarch to be so young.”
Jing Shisanniang rose, brushing incense ash from her skirt, her gaze level. “If you know the Jing family, Master Zhao, you should know that vast wealth is often a burning coal. I wonder, did you come here merely to avoid the rain, or is there another motive?”
Zhao Zhongxing offered a wry smile, hiding nothing. “To be honest, I was heading to the capital for the imperial exams. I intervened in an injustice on the road and scattered my travel funds helping others. I’ve been stranded in Yangzhou for half a month. Hearing of the service here, I came for a cup of vegetarian tea, and perhaps… to test my luck.”
“Test your luck?”
“Yes,” a glint of cunning flashed in Zhao’s eyes. “I heard Mistress Jing is benevolent. Perhaps you could spare a few taels of silver to help me travel north.”
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Jing Shisanniang’s lips. She turned and walked toward the exit, her white hem sweeping across the bluestone, leaving a trail of faint wet prints.
“Master Zhao, come with me.”
Zhao Zhongxing blinked, then beamed, hurrying to follow.
Outside the monastery, the rain had eased slightly. Jing Shisanniang ordered a carriage and invited him in. Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was subtly charged as they sat opposite one another.
“I have a friend, Li Sanshi-jiulang, a man of great righteousness,” Zhao Zhongxing broke the silence with a sigh. “He has recently fallen on hard times. The powerful minister Zhuge Yin stole his beloved concubine. My friend dares not speak his anger and drowns his sorrows in wine. I wish to save him, but my heart is willing while my strength is lacking.”
Jing Shisanniang’s hand, which had been polishing her prayer beads, froze abruptly. She looked up, her eyes flashing with a cold light, her entire persona shifting.
“Zhuge Yin?” she whispered the name, her voice laced with a chilling intent to kill. “That sorcerer who beguiles the lord and enjoys the favor of Gao Pian?”
Zhao Zhongxing was startled by her violent reaction. “You know him?”
“Who in Yangzhou does not know him?” Jing Shisanniang sneered. In her palm, the hard agarwood beads crumbled into dust, slipping through her fingers like sand. “In this world, good men die young, while villains live for ages. Master Zhao, I will provide your silver. But this account… I, Jing Shisanniang, have noted it.”
Zhao Zhongxing stared at the incense ash in her palm, horrified. This seemingly fragile merchant’s widow possessed a heart of steely resolve.
Chapter 2: A Bond of Kindred Spirits
South of Yangzhou city lay the Jing Manor.
The courtyard was deep and the corridors winding. Zhao Zhongxing was lodged in the east guest room. Expecting the gaudy excess of a merchant’s home, he was surprised to find the residence tastefully furnished. Bookshelves groaned under the weight of ancient classics, and on the desk sat an ancient sword. It lacked a scabbard, yet its blade radiated a biting cold.
The next morning, Zhao Zhongxing rose to find Jing Shisanniang had prepared breakfast in the waterside pavilion.
“Master Zhao, please.” Dressed in a pale yellow robe, devoid of makeup, she looked even more ethereal. She poured him a cup of tea herself. “This is Rain-Pre Longjing. Taste it.”
Zhao Zhongxing lifted the cup, inhaling the aroma. Looking at the woman before him, a strange feeling welled up. She was neither obsequious like a typical housewife nor brash like a female knight-errant. She possessed a unique flavor, like aged wine, improving with every sip.
“Mistress,” Zhao Zhongxing set down his cup, his expression serious. “Were your words yesterday true? Zhuge Yin’s power is overwhelming, and his手下 (underlings) are legion. If you intervene, I fear…”
“I fear what?” Jing Shisanniang arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I fear losing my life?”
Zhao Zhongxing fell silent.
Jing Shisanniang sighed softly, gazing at the rockery in the distance. “Master Zhao, do you know how the Jing family made its fortune? My late husband was also a man of spirit. Unwilling to collude with corrupt officials, he was framed and died in despair. Since then, I learned that to survive in this world, one must be crueler than the rest.”
She turned, her gaze burning into him. “You scattered your wealth for a friend; that is Yi (Righteousness). I aid you for the sake of justice; that is Qing (Affection). Though we are not kin, our hearts beat as one. This bond of kindred spirits is more precious than ten thousand taels of gold.”
Zhao Zhongxing was shaken, a warmth flooding his veins. He looked at Jing Shisanniang and saw no impurities in her eyes, only frankness and sincerity.
“Mistress…” His throat tightened. “What virtue do I possess to deserve such treatment?”
“Say no more, Master Zhao.” Jing Shisanniang smiled, a gesture like spring rain melting the frost between them. “Stay in the manor in peace for a few days. As for Zhuge Yin… I will make arrangements.”
For the next few days, they discussed poetry and swordplay. Though a woman, Jing Shisanniang showed profound insight into military strategy and even pointed out flaws in Zhao Zhongxing’s sword form. Zhao Zhongxing regarded her as a genius, a true soulmate.
One afternoon, as Zhao Zhongxing practiced with his sword in the study, Jing Shisanniang watched from the veranda.
“Master Zhao’s swordplay is orthodox, yet it lacks killing intent,” she said suddenly. “The sword is a weapon of slaughter. When you draw it, you must harbor the heart of one ready to die. If you hold onto benevolence, the blade becomes dull.”
Zhao Zhongxing sheathed his sword, smiling bitterly. “Mistress speaks the truth. But I am, after all, a scholar. It is hard for me to be ruthless.”
Jing Shisanniang stepped forward and took the scabbard-less ancient sword from the wall. With a flick of her wrist, the sword light flashed like silk, instantly carving a deep groove into the stone table.
“Watch closely.”
Her form shifted, ghost-like, darting into the flower bushes. Sword light shimmered; falling petals danced, yet none touched the ground. When she stood still, the petals drifted down, every single one sliced perfectly in half.
“The intent of the sword lies in the mind, not the form,” she said calmly. “If there is killing intent in the heart, grass, wood, bamboo, and stone can all be swords.”
Zhao Zhongxing was dumbfounded. He knew then that Jing Shisanniang was far more than a wealthy merchant’s widow; she harbored secrets as deep as the ocean.
Chapter 3: Infiltrating the Enemy Camp
Three days later, Jing Shisanniang obtained precise intelligence. Zhuge Yin’s beloved concubine was imprisoned in the basement of the “Listening to Rain Pavilion,” her parents held hostage nearby to ensure compliance.
“Zhuge Yin is paranoid; his manor is riddled with hidden sentries,” Jing Shisanniang told Zhao Zhongxing. “A frontal assault is not an option. I must disguise myself as a merchant from the Western Regions, offering treasures to gain an audience.”
Zhao Zhongxing worried, “Mistress, you are of noble standing. If you are exposed, the consequences…”
Jing Shisanniang’s eyes gleamed with confidence. “Rest assured. The Jing family has trade dealings in Persia. Zhuge Yin is greedy. When he sees the ‘Night Pearl’ I bring, he will surely receive me.”
The next day, clad in Hu-style clothing with curly hair cascading down her shoulders, Jing Shisanniang spoke fluent Persian as she arrived at Zhuge Yin’s manor with heavy gifts. Delighted by her generosity and the rarity of the “Night Pearl,” Zhuge Yin welcomed her warmly. During the banquet, she flattered him with skillful words. Floating on cloud nine from the praise and wine, Zhuge Yin soon let his guard down.
“Mistress may not know,” Zhuge Yin slurred, eyes glazed with drink, “that I recently acquired a beauty, a peerless color among mortals. She is merely stubborn; I must break her spirit slowly.”
Jing Shisanniang suppressed a cold sneer, her face remaining impassive. “Oh? Where is this beauty now? I would love to see her, to learn how to tame a woman.”
Zhuge Yin laughed loudly. “Mistress jokes. How could such a coarse creature be worthy of your sight? She is locked in the secret room beneath the Listening to Rain Pavilion. I will only release her when she obeys.”
Seizing the opportunity while toasting, Jing Shisanniang secretly mapped the layout. She noted the pavilion was in the northwest corner. Though guarded, the sentries changed shifts every half-hour, leaving a brief window of vulnerability.
As the banquet ended, Jing Shisanniang took her leave. Back at her manor, she immediately sketched the terrain.
“Tonight, at the hour of the Rat, during the shift change, is our chance,” she said, pointing to the map. “Master Zhao, you lead the men to wait outside. I will infiltrate alone.”
Zhao Zhongxing shook his head. “No, it is too dangerous. My martial arts may be weak, but I can assist you.”
Seeing the determination in his eyes, Jing Shisanniang relented. “Very well. But if danger arises, you must flee first. Do not worry about me.”
Chapter 4: Night Raid on the Gao Manor
The night was ink-black, the wind howling.
Inside Zhuge Yin’s manor, lights were dim. Dressed in black night gear, Jing Shisanniang scaled the high wall like a silent cat. Zhao Zhongxing waited outside with two trusted servants to provide support. Moving with the lightness of a feather, she bypassed several hidden posts and crept to the base of the Listening to Rain Pavilion.
It was shift change. As two guards yawned and exchanged places, Jing Shisanniang flicked her wrist. Two silver needles flew, striking their sleep acupoints with precision. She slipped inside, descending to the basement.
The iron door was locked, but it posed no challenge. Taking a thin wire from her hair, she picked the lock in seconds.
Inside the secret room, the concubine and her parents were emaciated, caged like animals. Seeing Jing Shisanniang, they were overcome with shock and joy but dared not make a sound.
“I am here to save you,” she whispered, unlocking the cage. “Quickly, follow me.”
Just as the four exited the room, they collided with a patrol of household guards.
“Who goes there!” a guard shouted, raising his saber.
Jing Shisanniang did not retreat. Dodging the blade, her short sword struck like a viper, piercing two throats in an instant.
“Intruder!”
Gongs clanged. The manor erupted into chaos.
“Go!” Jing Shisanniang shouted, shielding the three escapees as she charged outward.
Bursting out of the pavilion, they found themselves surrounded by dozens of torch-bearing guards. Leading them was a man wielding a pair of steel judge’s brushes—Peng Liantai’s disciple, known as “Ghost Seer.”
“You have the audacity to touch the Tiger’s whiskers!” He sneered, thrusting the brushes at Jing Shisanniang’s throat.
She sidestepped, her short sword clashing against the steel brushes, sending sparks flying. Her wrist numb, she realized his internal energy was formidable.
“Master Zhao, take them and go!” she roared, diving into the enemy formation.
Her swordplay was bizarre, targeting the lower body. With every flash of light, a scream followed. Zhao Zhongxing seized the moment to break through the encirclement. Jing Shisanniang fought a retreating battle, but just as she neared the exit, she sensed a lethal wind from behind.
She spun around to block, but a black shadow attacked like a phantom. It was Zhuge Yin himself.
“Jing Shisanniang! You dare ruin my plans!” Zhuge Yin held a fly-whisk, its tail as hard as steel wire, thrusting at her back.
With nowhere to dodge, she parried with her sword. Clang! The short sword was knocked from her hand. In that critical moment, a blue figure flew over the wall—Zhao Zhongxing. Though his skills were inferior, he threw himself in front of her, his sword aimed at Zhuge Yin.
“Seeking death!” Zhuge Yin sneered, sweeping his whisk. Zhao Zhongxing was sent flying, spitting blood.
“Master Zhao!” Jing Shisanniang’s eyes nearly burst with fury.
Roaring, she pulled a black sphere from her sash and hurled it to the ground.
Boom!
Thick black smoke filled the air, choking them with the smell of sulfur—a “Thunder Bomb” used by the Jing caravans for defense. Amidst the chaos, Jing Shisanniang scooped up Zhao Zhongxing and shot out of the manor like an arrow, vanishing into the vast night.
Chapter 5: The Pact at Beigu Mountain
Runzhou, Beigu Mountain.
The river wind was vast, whipping clothes and hair. Jing Shisanniang had settled Zhao Zhongxing in a pavilion halfway up the mountain, dressing his wounds.
“Mistress…” Zhao Zhongxing was pale but forced a smile. “Did I hold you back?”
Looking at the bruise on his chest, her heart ached. “Nonsense. If not for you, I would have been poisoned long ago.”
Footsteps approached from below. Li Sanshi-jiulang arrived with servants, frantic.
“Mistress Jing! Brother Zhao!” Seeing their disheveled state, he was horrified. “What happened?”
Jing Shisanniang handed over the rescued concubine and her parents. “The people are safe. Leave quickly. Zhuge Yin’s men will be here soon.”
Li Sanshi-jiulang was weeping with gratitude when torches suddenly illuminated the foot of the mountain. Shouts shook the heavens. Zhuge Yin had pursued them personally.
“Jing Shisanniang! Today is your death day!” Zhuge Yin pointed his whisk from below. “Kill!”
A tide of men surged up the mountain. Jing Shisanniang helped Zhao Zhongxing up, her eyes cold as a blade. She drew the ancient sword.
“Master Zhao, take them over the back path,” she ordered. “I will cover the retreat.”
“No! We go together!” Zhao Zhongxing gritted his teeth.
“Obey me!” she shouted fiercely. “If you stay, I will be distracted protecting you, and we will all die!”
She shoved Zhao Zhongxing toward the rear path and turned to face the pursuers. Her sword light swept like a rainbow. She moved like a ghost, but overwhelmed by numbers, wounds began to bloom on her body.
Seeing this, Zhuge Yin sneered and attacked. Clang! The ancient sword shattered.
“Die!” Zhuge Yin thrust his whisk at her heart.
In that split second, a white shadow flew across the river, fast as lightning.
Zing!
A bamboo sword blocked the whisk. Standing before Jing Shisanniang was an old man in white robes.
“Zhuge Yin, you have committed too many sins. Today is your retribution.” The old man’s voice was aged yet powerful.
Zhuge Yin paled. “Who are you?”
“I am the Sword Immortal, Yuan Gong.” The old man smiled coldly, his bamboo sword dissolving into a myriad of shadows that engulfed Zhuge Yin.
Zhuge Yin felt a flash of pain in his throat. Clutching his neck, he looked at the old man in disbelief before collapsing. Leaderless, the guards scattered.
The old man sheathed his sword. “Girl, you have skill. But in this world, skill alone is not enough.”
Jing Shisanniang saluted. “Thank you, Senior, for saving me. But who…”
“I have fate with you and came to help.” He smiled. “Go. Take your lover and fly far away. The Jianghu is not for you.”
With that, he leaped into the river like a white crane and vanished.
Chapter 6: Vanishing After the Deed
The storm had passed. Three days later.
The Yangtze Ferry, outside Yangzhou.
A black-awning boat bobbed quietly by the shore. The river wind was bleak, rustling the reeds in a sorrowful whisper. Jing Shisanniang stood at the prow, her plain clothes making her look fragile against the wind. She gazed at the opposite bank, her expression complex.
Zhao Zhongxing stood on the shore, clutching a hairpin shaped like a begonia flower. His wounds were dressed, but his face remained pale. He looked at the woman on the boat, a thousand words stuck in his throat.
“Mistress,” Zhao Zhongxing finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “The road to the Jianghu is long. Take care of yourself.”
Jing Shisanniang turned, a flicker of tenderness in her eyes before the cool mask returned. “Master Zhao, you as well. The court is treacherous. Do not let momentary impulse ruin your future.”
Zhao Zhongxing smiled bitterly, stepping forward. “Mistress, you know I seek fame not for wealth. I wish to serve the Emperor and purify the customs of the land. But if the world lacks righteous people like you, what use is fame to me?”
Jing Shisanniang trembled. She looked at this once-downcast scholar, now burning with a fiery passion. She almost nodded, almost threw everything away to wander the world with him. But she was Jing Shisanniang. She took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in her heart.
“Master Zhao, you are foolish!” she shouted sternly, her voice cracking. “Have you forgotten Li Sanshi-jiulang’s plight? The suffering of the people? If you abandon your post, the world loses a voice for the people and gains another sword-wielding wanderer. Is that worth it?”
Zhao Zhongxing froze. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Jing Shisanniang pulled a warm jade pendant from her robe—her late husband’s legacy, her last tether to the world. She tossed it. It landed in Zhao Zhongxing’s arms.
“This pendant is a family heirloom. I give it to you today.” She turned her head, afraid that one more look would break her resolve. “See the jade, see me. Know that though I am in the Jianghu, my heart is with the people. If you truly understand me, you will know I do not want you to wander with me, but to guard the peace of the world for me.”
She turned to the boatman. “Cast off!”
The pole pushed against the mud. The boat drifted away.
Zhao Zhongxing stood on the shore, clutching the jade pendant—her heart, her life. Watching the retreating figure, tears finally spilled over. He raised the begonia hairpin to the wind