Crossroads in the Rain

This rainy night was destined to be anything but peaceful.

A few streets away from Yifang Tang, on the other side of Quzhou City, lay Lei’s Martial Arts Hall.

Earlier that evening, the entire city had been placed under strict lockdown, with no one permitted to venture outside.

Xu Niantang had no choice but to swallow the drool threatening to escape her lips. She retreated to the main hall, retrieved a small stool, and settled into the courtyard, intending to simply gaze blankly into space.

The sky soon darkened, and before long, a fine drizzle began to fall, coolly speckling her nose.

She twitched her nose, much like a drenched puppy shaking water from its fur.

Just as she sighed and prepared to carry her stool back inside, a commotion erupted from the outhouse:

“Damn it, who secretly took my paper?”

“If you don’t have paper, don’t bother wiping! Just quickly rub a couple of times on your pants and be done with it, I’m about to burst!”

“What’s wrong with you, shaking yourself after using the outhouse? You splashed it all over my face!”

Xu Niantang, seemingly deaf to the crude exchange, walked to the front of the main hall. There, she addressed Lei Ling, the Martial Arts Master, who was squatting by the wall, eavesdropping, a roll of rough paper clutched in his hand and a profoundly lecherous grin on his face.

“Master Lei, I was hoping to return to the inn tonight. Would that be permissible?”

Lei Ling, having finally retaliated against his rebellious disciples, felt a surge of exhilaration as the pent-up frustration in his chest dissipated.

However, upon hearing his Martial Aunt’s words, the rough paper in his hand involuntarily tightened.

“Are you perhaps not accustomed to staying with us? Please, if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to voice them. If you find the bed too small, this old Lei can have them vacate their spots, and we can all stack ourselves like arhats on a single straw mat!”

Xu Niantang merely smiled and shook her head.

“There’s no need. It’s simply that he once stayed at that inn, and it makes me feel more at ease.”

Lei Ling, once again struck speechless by her words, quickly recited a few silent prayers to Little Hong in his heart, hoping to steady his wavering resolve.

“I see. However, Grandmaster is not currently present, and you alone might be in some danger…”

Xu Niantang replied,

“What danger could befall me? My illness has greatly improved, and I’ve learned a few martial arts moves. Ordinary… ordinary thugs won’t be able to harm me.”

She had initially intended to say ‘ordinary bad guys,’ but ‘bad guy’ was her exclusive term for ‘him’, a name she didn’t wish to share with others.

Lei Ling thought, ‘This is bad.’ Before Grandmaster left, he had entrusted this old Lei with the care of his Martial Aunt.

Despite having pounded his chest raw with assurances, if his Martial Aunt truly wished to leave, he seemed to have no good reason to stop her.

His rebellious disciples, meanwhile, were only good for pestering him for updates, updates, and more updates.

They must have ‘boo-hooed’ and annoyed Grandmaster’s wife into running away.

Lei Ling racked his brain for a long time, so much so that the rough paper in his hand was crumpled and torn, yet he still couldn’t devise a way to persuade Xu Niantang to stay.

He watched as she selected an oil-paper umbrella from the hall, unfurled its lotus-leaf-like canopy, and stepped into the courtyard, where the soft, delicate rain was now falling.

He quickly dashed forward a few steps, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“If you find these rebellious disciples of this old Lei too troublesome, just concoct any ending to appease them. Something like, ‘The flying bandit, while pursuing his wife, accidentally slipped on a banana peel and died’…”

Xu Niantang, holding her oil-paper umbrella at a slant, turned back. Her lips parted slightly, intending to offer a few more polite words.

However, she saw Lei Ling suddenly clutch his mouth, seized by a violent fit of coughing. When he finally calmed and opened his palm, his tiger-like eyes widened in alarm.

A shocking smear of dark blood stained his hand.

****

Hours later, the rain poured down in sheets. Stars and moon alike vanished into the heavens, leaving behind a sky of impenetrable black.

Within the oppressive, dark clouds, occasional flashes of white light flickered, followed by the rolling, somber rumble of thunder.

This was the last household. Murong Qihuang rose, silently watching the elderly couple being carried away by the column of soldiers.

When she had visited them earlier, the octogenarian couple had been remarkably talkative and full of vigor.

Though they had no children of their own, their conversation had revealed a deep affection, treating her as if she were their beloved daughter, showering her with care and doting attention.

Murong Qihuang was, in fact, older than them. Yet, having lived in seclusion deep within the mountains for years, she rarely interacted with others.

Such human warmth was something she had forgotten and lost over the long years.

She gazed at the squad of soldiers, who had already disappeared into the distance. They spoke of treatment, yet everyone knew the truth.

It was nothing more than an excuse to gather them on a rainy night and bury them on the spot in mass graves outside the city.

How could things have suddenly come to this?

Murong Qihuang stepped out of the house, and the torrential rain instantly enveloped her.

She extended her slightly trembling, ice-cold fingertips, catching drop after drop of rain, watching them swiftly shatter into mist.

Murong Qihuang took a deep breath and walked into the streets of Quzhou City.

The heavens poured down relentlessly, and every household had their doors and windows tightly shut. The wind howled, like a man-eating beast.

She had arrived in Quzhou City three days prior.

Her original reason for descending the mountain was merely to clear her mind, having unexpectedly encountered a strange individual during the River Lantern Festival.

She had asked herself in her heart: ‘Will you go looking for him? Can you still find him? Will he truly be *him*?’

In truth, Murong Qihuang was not one to act on impulse, or perhaps she had simply forgotten how to do so.

Thus, she rarely made erroneous choices. Only grander, more magnificent pursuits were worthy of her dedication and quest.

Personal emotional entanglements could be severed and cast aside without regret, for they were, by nature, things that could be sacrificed.

She thought, ‘Perhaps only through enduring painful struggles can one truly make the correct judgment.’

Could the continuous pangs of agony and internal conflict she had experienced over the past century, then, be precisely what proved she was not mistaken?

Murong Qihuang felt a flicker of fear, despite her unwavering belief in her own infallibility.

Yet, somewhere deep within her heart, she sensed a vague, unsettling dread.

It was as if something capable of utterly crushing her, something she had never noticed in her life—or perhaps had deliberately ignored—was stirring.

For the sake of inner peace, or perhaps to maintain her sense of self, Murong Qihuang had, for the first time in a century, embarked on a distant journey, traveling among renowned mountains and rivers.

And then, she arrived in Quzhou.

The peace and tranquility, the prosperity and splendor she had envisioned, were nowhere to be found.

A strange illness plagued the city, and the faces of its inhabitants were universally pale and unwell.

Murong Qihuang questioned a physician who was unwilling to treat patients.

“Why do you not treat the sick and save lives?”

The physician stammered evasively, unable to answer.

Murong Qihuang fixed him with her gaze for a moment, then understood.

With the plague rampant, medical halls and pharmacies were free to inflate their prices, seizing the opportunity to profit from the national crisis.

They were unwilling to offer aid simply because they considered the consultation and medicine fees too meager.

Murong Qihuang let out a faint, cold sneer in her heart.

Following that, she spent a fortune, renting every pharmacy within the city.

The word ‘free’ quickly drew in almost all the city’s residents afflicted by the strange illness.

Murong Qihuang listened to the chorus of praises ringing in her ears, observing the expressions of respect and admiration on every face.

Murong Qihuang became even more convinced: she had been correct all along.

She had done everything within her power; her conscience was clear.

Murong Qihuang moved through the torrential streets, her snow-white robes fluttering in the wind.

Suddenly, several figures approached from the opposite direction.

Still lost in thought, her gaze lowered, she failed to notice the group’s approach.

The newcomers were the disciples from Lei’s Martial Arts Hall, accompanied by Xu Niantang, who held an oil-paper umbrella, a subtle fragrance wafting around her, like a tranquil orchid in bloom.

This was their second encounter, a fleeting pass just like that night when river lanterns hung high.

The disciples, carrying the unconscious Lei Ling, rushed frantically towards Yifang Tang.

Walking beside them, Xu Niantang leaned slightly, her voice gentle as she comforted Lei Ling.

“Master Lei, don’t worry, we’ll be there soon. I took the medicine prescribed by that old gentleman, and I recovered quickly. You’ll definitely be fine.”

Each burdened by their own thoughts, they passed each other on the storm-swept street.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning tore across the distant sky, illuminating both their incomparably graceful faces.

Murong Qihuang’s brows subtly furrowed. ‘I have done all that is humanly possible,’ she thought. ‘The rest is up to fate. This is all I can do.’

Xu Niantang, a gentle smile gracing her face, whispered, “He trusts you deeply, and he entrusted me to your care. That is why I will definitely save you.”