Chapter Two: Nightmare at Midway

Old Huang listened to Ma Youjin’s words, but his face showed unease. Hesitantly, he said, “Master Ma, there’s something you may not know. Two days ago, a few guests arrived and booked both of the best rooms. I’m afraid there aren’t enough superior rooms left.”

A nearby escort named Hu Dachun barked, “Tell them to give up the rooms! We’ll pay you whatever extra silver they want!” Ma Youjin’s thoughts stirred, and he stopped Hu Dachun, turning to Old Huang. “What kind of guests are they? Where’s their accent from? Do you know anything about their background?”

Old Huang glanced toward the rooms from afar and replied in a low voice, “To answer Master Ma, there are three of them in total—two burly men and a child, with a capital accent. They wear brocade robes, not looking like servants or the offspring of ordinary families. For reasons unknown, the three of them arrived here on foot—no horses—traveling through the mountains and covered in dust. The child was exhausted. They got here the day before yesterday, and yesterday morning the child was so tired he couldn’t get up. The two men urged him for a long time but finally decided to rest here for a couple of days. This morning, when my daughter Shan’er brought them food, she overheard them say they must leave at dawn tomorrow—they cannot wait any longer. Most likely, they’re fleeing from enemies.”

Ma Youjin asked, “Could they be kidnappers selling children?”

Old Huang shook his head. “Impossible—the child is over ten years old. Besides, the men treat him with great respect in their speech. They are certainly not kidnappers.”

Ma Youjin frowned and thought, “If they’re avoiding enemies, why not report to the authorities? It’s probably just gambling debts. With our escort agency here, those debt collectors wouldn’t dare cause trouble.” He turned and said, “Life on the road is hard enough. Let them keep the best rooms. Just find me two other rooms.” Old Huang agreed with a nod.

At dusk, Old Huang stewed the chicken until it was tender, served it in a large basin, and brought it out. His cooking was excellent—the aroma of the meat filled the air. Ma Youjin had two plates of chicken and a jug of wine prepared, then took them himself to the two best rooms and knocked gently.

A voice inside called, “What is it?”

Ma Youjin chuckled. “I’m a traveling guest from next door. There’s a saying—within the four seas, all men are brothers. Hearing that you three are staying here, I thought I’d check if you need any help and bring you some food and wine.”

From inside came the faint sound of weapons being drawn, followed by a low voice, “Don’t act rashly.” After a moment, the door opened a crack, and a thin, alert man poked his head out. He glanced around, then smiled, “Thank you, brother, but we’ve caught a chill and can’t eat meat or drink. Please take it back—accept our apologies.” Before Ma Youjin could reply, the man withdrew and closed the door softly.

As the door closed, Ma Youjin took the chance to peer inside. He saw a youth asleep on a couch, another burly man standing guard with a blade in hand. Though his gesture was refused, Ma Youjin felt reassured. These two men, while acting as warriors, did not carry the air of men from the underworld, but rather that of the military. Such men were either bodyguards from a noble household or officials on assignment. They would not be the sort to rob escorts. Relieved, Ma Youjin returned to his own room and enjoyed the food and wine.

That night, after dinner, Ma Youjin arranged the night watch as per custom. Afterward, he lay down fully clothed. At midnight, he woke with a start, a sense of foreboding gripping his heart. He sprang up and looked out the window. In the courtyard below stood more than a dozen masked men in black robes, all armed with swords. The two escorts on watch were already dead, their throats slit, blood still spurting from their necks. Though they were not masters, they were no novices, yet they’d been killed without a sound.

This shock was grave indeed. Ma Youjin roared, “We’re under attack! Arm yourselves!” With a crash, the other escorts burst through the doors and windows, rushing out. The leader of the black-robed assailants did not retreat, but instead let out a sinister laugh, “Ha! We waited for days on the road without seeing a trace, thought we missed you. Who’d have guessed those three fools would pick this place—rats mingling with dogs, did the cats think they wouldn’t find you?”

Ma Youjin shouted, “I am Ma Youjin of the Shunfeng Escort Agency. Who are you?”

The man in black ignored him and ordered, “Kill them all! Then search for that brat.” Immediately, the black-robed men surged forward. The two escorts in front hadn’t time to react before their heads hit the ground.

Ma Youjin realized it was a fight to the death. He shoved Ma Beifang toward the back wall and led the other escorts into battle. Though Shunfeng’s men were numerous and skilled, their opponents’ swordplay was strange and deadly. They avoided crossing blades directly—there was not a sound of steel clashing. Their swords sought the heart and throat, every strike fatal. In a matter of moments, most of the escorts lay dead. Ma Youjin, being highly skilled and experienced, fought on, but even he was slashed deeply in the shoulder and ribs.

Ma Beifang, once his initial shock faded, found his courage. He snatched up a saber and leapt to his father’s side. Ma Youjin shouted, “Fool! Get over the wall and run!”

Ma Beifang looked up and replied, “Didn’t you say that, since ancient times, an escort might die defending a caravan, but never runs? If you won’t leave, neither will I. At worst, we die together.”

Ma Youjin managed a grim laugh, “Good child, you have spirit!”

The black-robed leader sneered, “We’ve surrounded the place—there’s no escape.” He moved like a ghost, his sword thrusting at Ma Youjin’s throat—so fast it was unavoidable.

Suddenly, the air whistled as bolts flew. The black-robed man leapt back, but too late. Three crossbow bolts pierced his chest, and he fell dead. Thirteen more iron-spined bolts shot into the rest, felling three more. The attackers cried out, “Iron-Spined Eight-Bolt Crossbows!”

Ma Youjin, saved from death, quickly pulled Ma Beifang back. He looked to see the two burly men from earlier standing in the doorway, armed with crossbows. The youth who’d been asleep now cowered behind them. The Iron-Spined Eight-Bolt Crossbow unleashed eight deadly bolts at once—a formidable military weapon, exclusive to the Grand Protectorate of Anxi, unheard of among civilians. That these two men possessed such arms proved their extraordinary identity. Ma Youjin suddenly realized he’d been drawn into something far beyond his ken.

The two men turned to the youth. “Young Master Li, if you make it back to Anxi alive, tell General Tian that Afu and Agui did all they could.” With that, they fired again—sixteen bolts whistling toward the attackers. This time, only one was hit, as the rest had taken cover. The crossbow’s flaw was its slow reload; with no time to string another bolt, Afu and Agui hurled their weapons aside, drew their sabers, and charged into the melee, cutting down two foes.

Ma Youjin saw that these two fought with a ruthless, direct style—military bladework, free of the flourishes of the martial world. Lined up in a formation, such skill would be devastating, but in a chaotic skirmish it lacked the agility of a true pugilist. Soon, the black-robed men found openings; sword flashes darted like vipers between the sabers, and in an instant, blood spurted—Afu and Agui had fallen.

By skill alone, these two were no match for Ma Youjin. They’d slain their foes mainly because of the confusion and their seamless coordination. Now, with the enemy regaining composure, Afu and Agui could not withstand them—one struck through the heart, the other the throat; both died.

Ma Youjin saw the attackers’ formation falter, seized the moment, and with Ma Beifang broke through with his blade. One black-robed man dodged the blow, flicked his hand, and a cold flash flew—Ma Youjin felt a sharp pain; a throwing dart had lodged in his chest. He grunted and fell. Ma Beifang watched his father collapse, his eyes reddening with rage. He cradled his father, but Ma Youjin was already dead. Despite his grief, Ma Beifang held back tears, trembling as he pulled a butterfly dart from his father’s chest and gripped it tightly.

Meanwhile, other black-robed men searched the other rooms. Soon, two screams came from Old Huang’s quarters—he and his wife had been killed. Not long after, someone dragged the terrified Huang Shan into the courtyard.

The attackers gathered Ma Beifang, Huang Shan, and the youth surnamed Li together. Though the youth was thin, his spirit was unyielding. Despite his fear, he shouted, “You curs, your grudge is with me alone. Why involve the innocent?”

Ma Beifang had thought these men mere bandits, but now realized his father and the others died because of this youth. Rage and grief silenced him, his body trembling.

One black-robed man stepped forward, sneering, “Young Master Li Zhongyuan, you have some courage for one so young. For that, I’ll grant you a merciful death—a sword through the heart, swift and painless.” With that, his sword flashed toward Li Zhongyuan’s chest.

Li Zhongyuan, knowing escape was impossible, stood tall, awaiting death. Just as the sword descended, a blur of blue light swept by. The black-robed man was suddenly torn limb from limb, blood and flesh flying through the air as if by an invisible force. The rest recoiled in horror.

A young Daoist appeared, sword in hand, moving like a butterfly among flowers. Wherever he passed, blood and flesh followed. The once-fearsome attackers were now terrified, scattering in panic. These men, whose martial skills had bested Ma Youjin’s company, were helpless before the Daoist.

The man who’d thrown the butterfly dart recognized the swordplay and, stunned, turned and fled. The others perished in an instant. As the young Daoist was about to give chase, a middle-aged Daoist leapt down from the roof and said, “No need. These men are vicious, but they too are but pitiful pawns. Let them go.” He looked upon the corpses, his face troubled. With a sigh, he said, “Men fight for power and profit, treating lives as worthless. Yet, who among us escapes the dust in the end? Well, whether good or evil, in life or death, all deserve a proper burial.”

He ordered the young Daoist to fetch shovels, and together they dug four large graves beside the inn, breaking up doors as makeshift headstones. One grave for Old Huang and his wife, one for Ma Youjin and the Shunfeng escorts, one for Afu and Agui, and one for the fallen black-robed men.

By the time they finished, dawn had broken. Ma Beifang, Li Zhongyuan, and Huang Shan knelt before the graves, weeping for their loved ones.