Chapter Seventy-Two: The Assassin Wei Yang

Dawn broke, yet Luo, who was usually up early and busy with chores, lay motionless on the bed, eyes open and unfocused, staring at the canopy above. Though she claimed not to believe it, she knew in her heart that someone who had been away for four years without a word must surely have perished; there was no other reason to cut off all contact with family.

Luo had no knowledge of the expeditionary army’s routes; she couldn't imagine that they had marched ever farther north, making it nearly impossible to send letters home. Only news of great victories was able to reach the capital, and even generals could hardly send private messages, much less to a tiny place like Jingtang Village.

An Jian, troubled, kept tugging at his hair. "Sister, what should we do? Eldest brother isn’t home, and before he left, he told me again and again to take good care of mother. But now mother is like this—what am I supposed to do?"

"Second brother, do you know in which year Hening City was taken?" An Yi asked as she stirred the porridge in the pot.

"I do. I heard eldest brother mention it. It was taken four years ago after five days and nights of fierce fighting, with heavy casualties," An Jian replied, puzzled. "But why do you ask, little sister?"

"Four years ago," An Yi’s eyes narrowed, a flash of sharpness passing through them. "Zhu Erhu is lying."

"What lie did he tell?"

"He said he lost his leg while storming Hening City."

"Yes, that’s what he said."

"A man who has lost a leg cannot remain in the army; he would have been sent back home. Even if the journey from Hening to Jingtang Village was long, it couldn’t possibly take four years," An Yi analyzed.

"He was badly wounded, maybe he needed time to recover," An Jian suggested.

"Even a serious injury doesn’t require four years. Besides, if father had died, the court would have sent a notice to the family. But in the past four or five years, we haven’t received any information about father at all. There were about ten men from our village who enlisted, but apart from Zhu Erhu, none returned or even sent word. Are we to believe they all died?" An Yi had tossed and turned all night, and the more she thought about it, the less credible Zhu Erhu’s story seemed.

An Jian scratched his head. "Listening to you, there are parts that really don’t add up. But why would he lie?"

"I don’t know his motive, but it’s enough to show he’s not telling the truth," An Yi said, her expression darkening.

"But mother believes him," An Jian sighed, distressed.

"We’ll explain it to her—she’ll understand," An Yi said, ladling porridge into a bowl and carefully carrying it into the inner room.

After listening to her children, Luo recalled something. "Sixteen years ago, someone from the village died in battle. The court sent an official notice and gave the family fifty taels of silver."

An Yi lifted a spoonful of porridge to her mother’s lips. "The court hasn’t sent notice of father’s death. That means father isn’t dead. Zhu Erhu mistook someone else. He was wounded, his eyesight blurred, and he was just talking nonsense. We mustn’t believe him so easily. The expeditionary army is still out there fighting. When the war ends, father will come home. He’s blessed and strong—he’ll return and reunite with us."

Luo swallowed the porridge and said, "Your father will come back. He doted on you most. Before he left, he promised to return with treasures for your dowry and see you married. He’ll be back."

"That’s right, mother. We should wait at home for him," An Yi said with a gentle smile, feeding her mother another spoonful.

Luo nodded, a glimmer of life returning to her eyes.

At dusk, Liu, having heard the news, hurried over, pushed open the courtyard gate, and called out, "Qiu-Mei!"

Luo stepped out of the kitchen. "Mother, what brings you here?"

"My poor child!" Liu rushed forward, embracing Luo, tears streaming down her face. "You’re as unfortunate as I am—widowed so young. Heaven must be blind! What did my daughter-in-law do to deserve this? Such a pitiful fate!"

"Mother, don’t cry. Qinghe isn’t dead; he’s still alive. He’ll return to us," Luo patted her mother’s back.

"Not dead? Qinghe isn’t dead?" Liu pulled back, wiping her tears, and stared at Luo. "You’re not just saying that to comfort me, are you?"

"Why would I do that, mother? Qinghe isn’t dead. Zhu Erhu’s eyes deceived him. Think about it—if something had happened, the authorities would have notified us. There’d be no silence," Luo explained.

"That’s right, I really lost my head and didn’t think of that," Liu slapped her forehead. "Silly old woman! Well, it’s fine now. I’ll head back."

"Mother, have dinner here first. I’ll have my brothers drive you home after."

Just then, Zhang Lian and his son arrived too, having failed to catch up with Liu on her dash here.

Luo asked the three to stay for dinner.

After An Yi’s analysis, both Luo and the others, including the Zhang family, believed Zhu Erhu was lying. Though they couldn’t figure out his motive, they decided to ignore him and find their own way to seek out the truth.

Most of Jingtang Village’s residents believed Zhu Erhu. Many pitied Luo for her supposed widowhood and understood why she clung to hope—if you believe the worst, all hope is lost; if you don’t, you can keep waiting, keep hoping, and go on living.

Of course, there were those who took pleasure in her misfortune, among them Aunt Liu, though her own husband was of little use whether present or not.

After the autumn harvest, when the grain was dried and taxes delivered, and diligent families had planted winter vegetables, by mid-October the villagers had time to idle, and gatherings at the village entrance became common. Aunt Liu, now free, joined the gossip. "I tell you, Luo Qiu-Mei is shameless. Her husband’s dead, and she still struts around smiling, always dressed up and going into town like a hussy. She’s just like her mother-in-law—she’ll never remain a widow. Mark my words, she’ll remarry soon enough!"

"Zhu Qiao’s mother, why don’t you have a little mercy? Must you wound others to the core?" someone protested.

"If Luo Qiu-Mei does such things, why should she fear being talked about? Her husband is dead, after all," Aunt Liu retorted, slapping her thigh.

"Your husband’s the one who’s dead! My big brother-in-law is alive and well and will be home soon," Luo Xiaoxia, driving ducks past, shot back.

Aunt Liu spat at her. "Who do you think you’re fooling? Zhu Erhu himself said An Qinghe has been dead for four or five years, his remains lost in a sea of soldiers. The court will only tally the dead when the army returns—then you’ll get your notice. Just wait for the news of his death!"

"I’ll beat you for your foul mouth!" Luo Xiaoxia, infuriated, pounced, and the two women grappled on the ground.

Those nearby, feeling Aunt Liu was in the wrong, helped break up the fight, and Luo Xiaoxia took the opportunity to scratch Aunt Liu’s face raw. She arched her brow and sneered, "Let’s see you show your face and gossip about my sister again."

Four days later, when Aunt Liu’s wounds had scabbed and she dared show herself in public, she was back at it, spreading rumors about Luo.

"Zhu Qiao’s mother, hurry home! Your husband, Zhu Fucai, has been carried back," someone shouted.

Aunt Liu rushed home. The men who brought Zhu Fucai told her he’d been caught cheating at the gambling den and beaten badly. With the village doctor away, there was no one to treat him, and by midnight he was dead.

Penniless, Aunt Liu begged the village head for help. Out of pity, he collected some money from the villagers and bought Zhu Fucai a simple coffin.

In the same village, all enmities are set aside for the dead. Luo sent An Jian to pay respects and offer five coins as a funeral gift.

Three days later, under a steady autumn rain, Zhu Fucai was buried beside his eldest daughter Xinliu—father and daughter reunited in the earth.

That night, after washing their feet and securing the house, the three members of Luo’s family were preparing for bed when a knocking sounded.

It was not the courtyard gate, but the house door.

"Shuanzi, didn’t you lock the gate?" Luo asked, alarmed.

"It’s locked," An Jian replied, grabbing a long wooden staff kept by the door.

Luo tied her sash and went to the door. "Who is it?"

"Sister, it’s me."

Luo couldn’t believe her ears. "Who are you?"

"Sister, it’s Qiuxue."

An Yi's heart leapt—Wei Yang had returned!

Recognizing Luo Qiuxue’s voice, Luo opened the door without hesitation. "Brother!"

Wei Yang slipped inside, swiftly closing the door behind him.

An Yi noticed Wei Yang wore all black, the garb of a night traveler, and her heart clenched.

Luo and An Jian, however, were overjoyed. Luo clutched Wei Yang’s left arm. "Brother, why were you gone so long? I thought you weren’t coming back."

"Uncle, I’ve been practicing martial arts every day. Now I can beat five or six people at once!" An Jian exclaimed.

Wei Yang smiled faintly. "Sister, sit down first."

When Luo was seated and saw only An Jian and An Yi, he asked, "Where’s Zhuzi?"

"Eldest brother went to the capital for the exams," An Jian replied.

"Sister, do you know someone named An Qinghe?" Wei Yang asked.

"You’ve seen Qinghe?" Luo asked excitedly.

"An Qinghe is my father," An Jian answered.

Wei Yang’s eyes flickered, his mouth opening as if to speak, but then hesitating.

"Brother, did you see Qinghe? Where did you see him? Is he well?" Luo gazed at him eagerly, desperate for news.

Wei Yang glanced at An Yi. "I haven’t seen him. I know about him because…" He paused. "Sister, I’m sorry. I lied to you. I’m not a bodyguard—I’m an assassin."

"Brother, what nonsense is this? How could you be an assassin?" Luo refused to believe it.

"I am an assassin. I accepted a contract to kill four people," Wei Yang said quietly.

"Kill four people? Which four?" Luo’s voice trembled.

"An Luo, courtesy name Qiu-Mei, age thirty-three; An Kang, called Zhuzi, sixteen; An Jian, called Shuanzi, fourteen; An Yi, called Xier, eleven. All from Shangtang Village, now living in Jingtang Village. The employer’s name is An Qinghe, from Shangtang Village, Lingling County, age thirty-five." Wei Yang had recognized the names on the contract and snatched the assignment from a companion. After living in Jingtang Village for several months, he knew there were only two An families between the two villages—there was no mistake. The targets were the very family who had given him warmth and a home.

"Impossible… How could Qinghe… This can’t be!" Luo was more devastated than if she’d been told of An Qinghe’s death.

"Why does he want us dead?" An Jian asked in a low voice.

"After accepting the contract, I investigated him. He performed great deeds during the campaign against the Wuliya Kingdom and was rewarded by the emperor. Now he’s a second-rank general. An old general named Huang, thinking highly of his talents, wants him to marry his granddaughter, since he’s fought for years and has yet to wed."

"Years of battle, not yet married? What a joke," An Jian sneered, fists clenched, eyes flashing coldly. "And what of my mother?"

"He intends to cast aside his wife and remarry. Sister, as the original wife, stands in the way of the new bride."

"An Qinghe, that scoundrel! He’ll never be rid of me. I’ll go to the capital and petition the emperor myself. I’ll confront that faithless man and demand how he could do this to me!" Luo’s fury burned away her shock.

"Wei Yang, why should we believe you?" An Yi, who had been silent, asked coolly.

Wei Yang looked at her. "If I wished to kill you, I could do so effortlessly."

He implied he had no reason to lie; he could kill them at any time without all this explanation.

"Your actions have betrayed your organization. That means pursuit and death. Aren’t you afraid?" An Yi’s gaze was sharp as a blade.

Wei Yang replied slowly, "Assassins live for death. Let me die for something that matters."

"Very well, I believe you. Then what should we do now?" An Yi asked.

Wei Yang looked at Luo. "Sister, do you really wish to go to the capital and confront him?"

"I do. I want to ask why he’s done this to me, to my children," Luo’s voice was icy, her words bitten off.

"I’ll pack. We’ll leave for the capital at dawn," An Jian said.

"Second brother, if we just head straight for the capital, we’ll be killed before we arrive," An Yi warned.

"Xier is right. We must travel in secret, without anyone knowing," Wei Yang said gravely.

"Not only that—we must lay a trap, make him think we’re dead, so we’ll be safe on the road," An Yi’s eyes gleamed.

Wei Yang nodded. "I’ll make arrangements in town and return tomorrow night."

"Uncle, be careful," An Yi said.

"I’m off," Wei Yang replied, slipping out the door. His feet barely touched the ground as he leapt into the darkness and soon vanished.

"Uncle’s martial arts are incredible," An Jian marveled.

An Yi shut the door and said, "Mother, let’s pack."

That night, not only the An family was busy packing—the Liu family was too. Cong Liu had returned, bringing with him a large sum of stolen money, and Aunt Liu decided they would leave Jingtang Village before dawn.