Flower Stealing Master

But when she thought of Song Qingshu’s abilities, the radiant girl’s mood lifted again at once. ‘He turned the Jin court upside down and inside out. A little crisis like this won’t stop him.’ Her spirits recovered entirely.

Since Song Qingshu’s fate had become uncertain, everyone close to him had been holding their breath — most of them pessimistic about his chances. And yet this girl, whose connection to him was considerably less intimate than the others, had guessed closer to the truth than any of them.

Drawn by Lin’an’s brilliance, she bounced from stall to stall along the street, looking at everything. It was not long before the people nearby noticed her — women with envious eyes, men who couldn’t look away.

She frowned faintly. Being the centre of everyone’s attention was not the same as enjoying herself. She let out a small sound of displeasure and turned to go, using just enough qinggong that to the surrounding crowd it was as though she simply blinked out of existence. A collective sigh rose from the men nearby.

“Hmph. Men are all the same everywhere. Revolting.” Given what her mother had been through in recent years, she had precious little goodwill for the gender. “Never mind. I’ll go to the Louwailou and wait for the Western Venom.”

Seen from above, she moved through the crowded streets like a butterfly among flowers — threading through the dense press of people without a single person so much as grazing her sleeve.

As she entered the Louwailou, a thought was forming in her mind. ‘Should I find a veil?’ Her mother’s misfortunes had been inseparable from her beauty, and that had given this girl a maturity about such things well beyond her years.

“Can it be little Sister Chongjie? Truly, fate brings people together across a thousand li.” A teasing voice came from somewhere nearby — the manner somewhat peculiar, but the voice itself surprisingly pleasant.

This radiant girl was Wanyan Chongjie of the Jin dynasty. When news of Song Qingshu’s fate had spread, the women of the Jin court — led by Gebi — had gone pale with dread, and some had even spoken of marching on Yangzhou themselves. Ouyang Feng had been the calm one, and at the crucial moment he had talked them out of it — they had all understood that if Song Qingshu had survived, acting rashly would expose the hidden network he had been so carefully building. After deliberation they had decided to send Ouyang Feng south to gather intelligence, the man whose very title was the Western Venom being the obvious choice for dealing with a poison.

The other women had wanted to come as well — but Gebi needed to hold the court in the guise of a Wanyan; Daiqisi had to maintain her cover as Tang Kuobian; Wanyan Ping needed to stay and look after her sister in the palace; and Pucha Qiucao could not be counted among the inner circle. That left Wanyan Chongjie, who had volunteered.

The practical reasons were clear: her martial arts were sound and her mind quick, making her genuinely useful to Ouyang Feng. And there was a more pressing reason — she and her mother had both taken Song Qingshu’s Three Corpse Brain God Pill. If he died, they died with him. No one in the world had more personal reason to keep him alive.

So it had been settled: she would accompany Ouyang Feng south.

Following the voice, Wanyan Chongjie found a remarkably handsome young lord seated near the window, slowly fanning himself. The fan’s handle was white jade, and the hand that held it was as pale and flawless as the jade itself, almost translucent. Two rather unpleasant-looking old men stood flanking him, their eyes bright with the sharpness of elite martial artists.

Wanyan Chongjie felt a private groan. ‘Why here, of all places?’

“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone,” she said with a polite bow, and turned to leave. A chopstick embedded itself in the column directly in front of her without a sound, blocking her path.

The jade-like young lord poured tea at a deliberate pace, filled his cup to the brim, and then said with a light smile: “If I had mistaken you for someone, Miss Chongjie — how would you know I was a woman?”

Wanyan Chongjie could have kicked herself. Though she also knew that even without that slip, this person would have found another excuse to stop her. Her eyes darted quickly, and she turned back with her most winning smile: “Sister Zhao, you have such a generous heart — please don’t hold a silly girl’s behaviour against her.”

The jade-like young lord was none other than the Mongol Princess Shaoming, Zhao Min.

She had been pursuing Murong Jingyue’s trail for some time now, hoping to find a way to remove the Three Corpse Brain God Pill from her own body. The last lead in the Jin court had come to nothing; another possible location had also proved fruitless. She had been about to try one final place when she happened to cross paths with her elder brother Wang Baobao.

Hearing Wang Baobao refer to Song Qingshu as “brother-in-law” with such affection and praise, Zhao Min had instantly grasped that her brother had been thoroughly duped — and found herself simultaneously amused and embarrassed. To her own surprise, she hadn’t been angry, and hadn’t corrected him. She had simply allowed the alliance between Prince Ruyang’s Palace and Song Qingshu to stand as her brother understood it.

Then news had come that Song Qingshu was poisoned and being hunted down by Li Kexiu in Yangzhou. Zhao Min could no longer stay put. She had changed her plans on the spot and headed south.

With Song Qingshu having vanished entirely and no faction knowing where he was, she had chosen Lin’an as her destination. Presenting herself to the Southern Song court as a Mongol envoy, she had put forward the position that the earlier agreement to return the Sichuan territories had been conditional on Song Qingshu’s status, and with that status now uncertain, Mongolia considered the agreement void — using the Sichuan territories as leverage to pressure the court into dealing with those responsible and helping locate Song Qingshu.

The Southern Song court had erupted into factionalism. Zhao Gou, however, was not a fool — yielding to Mongol pressure so openly would be beneath the dignity of the court, and Wan Qili was not a man to be dislodged by external demands.

There were also perceptive voices in the Southern Song who noted that Mongolia’s strategic attention was currently fixed on the western kingdoms, and that a quarrel over Sichuan was unlikely to restart a full war. And the court had no desire to give back Li Kexiu’s territory regardless.

After considerable manoeuvrings, the Southern Song court reached for the time-honoured tool of Han statecraft: delay. Sweet words flowed toward Zhao Min in abundance; concrete action was entirely absent.

She saw through all of it and could not immediately find a counter. She understood that the court was waiting to see how the battle between Li Kexiu and the Golden Serpent Camp resolved — if Li Kexiu won, the court’s negotiating position strengthened and they would have gained the Huai and Shandong regions regardless of what Mongolia did with Sichuan; if Li Kexiu lost, Song Qingshu would have no further use to them and could be offered up however was convenient.

The Southern Song could afford to wait. Zhao Min could not. She was worried about Song Qingshu’s life, and on top of that, her mission here had been entirely her own initiative — Mongolia was not about to disrupt its western campaigns for the sake of one man. The longer things dragged on, the more likely word would reach the Khan’s court, and when it did, a genuine envoy would arrive along with a reprimand.

Frustrated and restless, she had come to the Louwailou today simply to clear her head — and had run straight into Wanyan Chongjie.

Zhao Min did not often find herself on the wrong end of things. But in the Jin court that one time, she had been careless and Wanyan Chongjie had bested her. The days she had spent in that dark cell still made her teeth ache — and though it had technically been Song Qingshu who imprisoned her, the irritation she felt was directed squarely at the girl in front of her.

Hearing the conciliatory words, Zhao Min felt a flicker of satisfaction — followed immediately by caution. She had been taken in by that artless, innocent expression before. She let the pleasant feeling pass and said with cool composure: “Generous heart? I’m afraid not — I’m only a woman, and women are always petty at heart.” She paused. “Master Lu, Master He — mark her face.”

The other diners who had been watching with cheerful interest all felt the atmosphere turn cold at once.

‘Is she serious?’ they thought. ‘A girl that lovely, and she’d actually —’

Lu Zhangke moved in a flash, one large hand reaching for Wanyan Chongjie. He Biweng did not move immediately — instead he sidled forward with an ingratiating laugh. “My lady, it would be such a waste to mark a face like that. Why not let me handle this personally?”

Zhao Min found his lechery deeply distasteful — she was about to rebuke him when the memory of Wanyan Chongjie hovering close to Song Qingshu in the Jin court surfaced, and she changed her mind. “Very well. If you can catch her.”

“Gladly!” He Biweng surged forward with every ounce of enthusiasm.

Wanyan Chongjie’s martial arts were genuinely good — but that was a relative measure among the younger generation. Against the Xuanming Elders, two of the most senior and formidable fighters in the martial world, she had no business being there. The only thing in her favour was that He Biweng’s momentary delay had broken the Xuanming Elders’ notorious combined attack — when the two fought together, even the most exceptional opponents found them nearly unmanageable. Separated, each was still a first-tier fighter, but the geometric increase in power was gone.

Against Lu Zhangke alone, the mismatch was not quite absolute. Wanyan Chongjie watched for an opening, found one, and in a single burst of speed — moving twice as fast as she had shown before — broke for the door.

Having been made to look foolish in front of Song Qingshu enough times already, Lu Zhangke was not about to let a slip of a girl escape him in front of Zhao Min. He bellowed and gave chase.

*****

Meanwhile, Feng Ziying, Xue Pan, and their retinue — the group far too large for Song Qingshu to find a moment to slip away — had arrived at the Louwailou’s entrance without him having managed it.

The group stood outside talking and laughing, and at that moment Wanyan Chongjie came shooting out the door and straight into them, bringing a trail of fragrance with her.

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