Chapter 15: Crimson (Part 2)

In the second year of Tianbao, during the Shangyuan Festival, the early snow had already melted, and the city was bustling with festivities.

A figure dressed in black entered the Gu family’s firecracker and lantern shop. The shopkeeper, Fang, had drunk a little wine, and in his cheerful mood, brought his son Fang Rui to sell sky lanterns. Upon seeing the black-clad, straw-hatted stranger enter, he welcomed him warmly, uttering a few auspicious greetings for good measure.

But the visitor merely nodded, picked up a red sky lantern, took a brush, and wrote the words “Rest in Peace” on the paper lantern. He tossed a gold ingot onto the counter and left.

Fang watched the man depart, frowning in confusion, but pocketed the gold nonetheless—such generosity couldn’t be ignored. The handwriting on the lantern struck him as oddly familiar, yet in his drunken haze he couldn’t recall why.

Not long after, Wu Yueling bribed the city guards and left through the gates. On the wild slope of Shili Village, she uncorked a jug of autumn-brewed wine made by Lu Ziji and drank deeply. She lit the sky lantern inscribed with “Rest in Peace,” and watched as the solitary flame ascended, drifting skyward until it burst into a flower of light and vanished in the cold, black night.

White snow blanketed the earth, and the wind was bitter.

Captain Gongyang arrived at Shili Village with hundreds of soldiers. At first sight, the village had been razed; charred remnants of houses stood everywhere, some walls still smoking, and at the gate lay a woman, her corpse twisted in misery. Blood covered the ground for a hundred paces, bodies lay everywhere. Shocked and outraged, they wondered who could commit such heinous acts.

Leaping from his horse, Gongyang ordered his men to search the village, advancing swiftly, hand on sword.

Soon, they discovered dead men and horses, their deaths strange; their attire clearly marked them as mountain bandits, not villagers. Catching sight of the character “Righteousness” engraved on their blades and swords, Gongyang understood: these were bandits from the Righteous Gathering Stronghold. Why had they slaughtered the village? Something was amiss.

Wu Yueling, hearing the commotion, hid at the door to observe. She saw the newcomers wore the uniforms of officials, not bandits, and so continued to watch from her hiding place.

She had already searched everywhere; aside from herself, not a soul survived. All had been massacred, from venerable elders like the Xie family, to children not yet ten like the Fu family—they had all perished under the chaos of blades and gunfire.

“Captain Gongyang, report! The entire village, young and old, has been slaughtered!”

“I already know which bandits are responsible. These men failed to breach this house and died outside, and the building remains unburned. Strange. Let’s go inside and investigate.”

“Yes, sir!”

As the voices drew nearer, Wu Yueling stood up, meeting Captain Gongyang’s gaze as he entered.

“Who are you?” exclaimed a startled young soldier beside Gongyang, drawing his sword with a clang.

“I am Wu Yueling of the Lu family,” she replied.

Gongyang was surprised: first, this young woman showed no fear despite the carnage; second, even faced with drawn blades, her expression remained calm. Could the dead men outside have been slain by her? Yet she seemed too frail for such prowess. He was perplexed.

“Why are you here alone?” Gongyang pushed the soldier’s sword aside and questioned her.

“This is my home.” Wu Yueling stroked the small lynx nestled against her for warmth.

Gongyang glanced at the figure covered by a mat on the floor, noted Wu Yueling’s pale face and resolute demeanor, and frowned. “Is that your kin?”

She said nothing, but nodded, casting a glance at the body under the blanket. If only Lu’s mother hadn’t run outside, perhaps none of this would have happened. If she hadn’t heard Ah Ya’s cry for help—how many ‘if onlys’ could there be? Wu Yueling mocked herself inwardly.

“Captain Gongyang, what now?” asked a soldier nearby.

“Clean up the village, bury the dead, and send word to the governor to report this matter,” Gongyang decided after a moment’s thought.

The soldiers hurried out, leaving Gongyang and Wu Yueling alone in the room.

“Do you have other family? You’d best come with us to Jingzhou City, for convenience if there is news.”

“None but those lying here. I will go to Jingzhou eventually.”

After answering, Wu Yueling paused, then asked, “Those bandits—according to you, they’re from the Righteous Gathering Stronghold. How will you avenge the villagers? How will you avenge me?”

“That isn’t my decision, but since it’s a campaign against bandits, I will lead the troops myself. Your vengeance will be served.”

Wu Yueling felt a flicker of goodwill towards this officer; perhaps she could join them in seeking justice.

“But why couldn’t the bandits approach this house? I’m puzzled.”

Wu Yueling looked up at the puzzled captain and replied without hesitation, “A master passed through the village and protected me. Had it not been for that master, I’d be dead.”

“I see. No wonder the bandits were stopped here—a grandmaster, no doubt! Do you know their name or title?” Gongyang didn’t doubt her, given Wu Yueling’s slight build and youth; she couldn’t possibly have repelled the bandits herself. Wu Yueling shook her head, indicating she did not know.

After a busy morning, the villagers’ bodies were all buried. With the help of the soldiers, Wu Yueling laid Lu’s mother to rest and erected a wooden marker.

She refused to return to the city with the soldiers, and also declined an invitation from the Gu family. Alone in the house, she changed into black attire, donned a battered straw hat, took a bandit’s sword left behind, and entered the city on her own.

Hundreds of miles outside the city, a group of bandits rested at the foot of a mountain. Their leader, a burly man in a fur cap, drank heartily.

“Boss, last night was perilous. That woman used some kind of hidden weapon—after a burst of explosions, brothers were dead or downed, and only after shooting her with an arrow did I feel a bit better!” Han Wujiao drank and spat wine onto the festering wound on his arm, grimacing in pain.

“Hmph, if you hadn’t stopped me last night, I would have avenged Third Boss! That wound’s not from an ordinary arrow—it’s swollen already! Wait till we return to the stronghold and have Second Boss look at it,” Yan Lang took another drink, exhaling hot breath and touching the chest of gold beside him. “But the Cui family was generous: five hundred taels of gold, just as promised. If they didn’t live in the city, I’d have turned their house upside down!”

“Don’t worry, Boss. When Righteous Gathering Stronghold prospers, we’ll be free as kings! You’ll reign over your mountain, we’ll be your prime ministers—more carefree than the Emperor in Chang’an!” Han Wujiao put on his coat, stretching his aching arm, dreaming aloud.

With the northern wind blowing, the bandits continued their journey home.

Within the city, all the snow had melted. Wu Yueling first checked into the Cui family’s inn—twenty coins a night. By day, she watched the Cui family’s mansion, observing their every move. Four or five days passed; the Cui family’s actions seemed normal, though many matchmakers were breaking down their door—for a marriage, it seemed.

Wu Yueling hid in the alley opposite the mansion, drinking clear wine from a small gourd and eating cold flatbread, waiting and waiting—several more days passed. She noted that Cui Lie rarely left, occasionally accompanying the steward on errands. The man guarding the Cui family was familiar; he had helped Cui Miao surround her in the marketplace, and according to Tie Lihua’s introduction, his name was Yuchi Yang, a mountain bandit by origin.

Wu Yueling’s funds were depleted. Today was the Shangyuan Festival, and also the day Cui’s third son married. The neighbors gossiped—it was the governor’s youngest daughter, Liu Chang’e.

As evening fell, Wu Yueling shook the dust from her purse—tomorrow she couldn’t afford the inn anymore. Outside Cui’s gate, a decorated bridal sedan was carried out; Cui Hao and Cui Sheng rode horses with blue ribbons, followed by a retinue of servants. The scene was lively.

Wu Yueling followed quietly, observing Cui Sheng’s radiant face as he went to fetch his bride.

As dusk deepened, the city resounded with firecrackers. The most festive scene was the bonfires in the streets—people tossing in dry bamboo, explosions echoing without end.

Cui Sheng’s procession passed through the market; lanterns in hand, adults led children, wives supported elders, some guessed riddles, others hawked goods—the Shangyuan night made the southern ward exceedingly lively.

Wu Yueling paused briefly at a sky lantern shop—the Gu family’s, operated by Shopkeeper Fang and his son—but moved on, still trailing Cui Sheng’s party.

Leaving the ward, they arrived at a grand mansion. Eight lanterns hung at the gate, exuding grandeur—it was the governor’s residence. Cui Sheng’s procession halted here. Wu Yueling, hiding nearby, listened as they knocked and sought entry. Cui Sheng’s poetic skills faltered, his verses awkward; after matching wits with the women inside, he was finally allowed in.

Curiously, as Cui Sheng stood at the door, it opened and a crowd of women pummeled him, forcing him to shield his head. The servants cheered as if for a goal in the World Cup. Afterward, wine was brought; Cui Sheng feigned drinking, poured it aside, was caught, and scolded by the women. He claimed the wine was drugged and refused to drink.

Wu Yueling watched in the cold wind. At last, the governor and his wife brought out their plump daughter and Cui Sheng, released a wild goose, and sent them off for the wedding.

Following the procession, they returned to the Cui family’s mansion, now adorned with two red festive lanterns. Wu Yueling, as she did in battle, donned black gloves, fetched a Uzi submachine gun from the warehouse, switched off the safety, and took a Halloween pumpkin grenade from her belt, tossing it towards Cui Lie, who had come out to greet his son and daughter-in-law.

Yuchi Yang, protecting Cui Lie, joined the festivities—it was a wedding and festival, after all. But suddenly, a black-clad, straw-hatted figure emerged from the roadside, throwing an object at Cui Lie. As a bodyguard, Yuchi drew his sword to intercept.

Just then, another bundle of dry bamboo was thrown into the bonfire; firecrackers thundered across the city. Yuchi thought it was just a stone tossed by some hooligan, protected Cui Lie, and blocked with his sword, not yet shouting in anger. But a thunderous explosion followed—a swelling pumpkin head, the grenade’s signature effect. The blast knocked him over; though a skilled fighter, the grenade left him maimed, his arm shattered, bleeding to death.

Wu Yueling seized the moment, rushed to the terrified Cui Lie, and aimed her gun—but was tackled by a servant, forcing her to fire the Uzi like firecrackers, wounding the attacker.

Cui Lie realized he was under attack, called for protection, and fled into the courtyard.

Cui Sheng, just helping the bride from the sedan, heard the blast; earth and stone erupted—like a monster bursting forth. The plump Liu Chang’e twisted her ankle, dragging Cui Sheng down and pinning him beneath her. Cui Sheng couldn’t get up, as his bride rivaled his elder brother in size.

Cui Hao, too, collapsed in fear, his trousers soaked.

Some timid servants covered their ears, thinking it was thunder; braver ones saw the black-clad figure near Cui Lie and rushed to protect their master. Others, slower to react, heard Cui Lie’s cries and scrambled to confront the straw-hatted assailant—but a series of crackling shots erupted, the leading servants fell, groaning. Many thought it was witchcraft and dared not approach, scattering in panic.

With the servants fleeing, Wu Yueling saw Cui Lie run into the courtyard and pursued, shooting two club-wielding servants as she entered the inner residence. She saw Cui Lie, protected by servants, had already rounded the corridor, fleeing deeper into the mansion, so she pressed onward.

Turning a corner, she saw a servant aiming a crossbow at her; she ducked instinctively, narrowly avoiding the bolt, and fired her black rose revolver, striking his arm. The crossbow fell, and the wounded servant collapsed, crying out.

Wu Yueling passed him, entered the inner garden; several women, seeing the black-clad, straw-hatted Wu Yueling, cried not to kill them and hid in the pavilion. Lanterns hung all around; Wu Yueling surveyed the scene carefully, noting a servant lurking nearby.

“Where did Cui Lie go?” Wu Yueling asked at the pavilion.

One woman fainted as Wu Yueling approached; the others trembled like quails before a hawk, terrified she would kill them.

“Where did Cui Lie run?” Wu Yueling repeated, shooting the servant who tried to ambush her. The women crawled frantically, never having seen firearms before.

A younger woman, clutching a pillar, saw Wu Yueling approach and, tear-streaked, pointed to the garden path.

Wu Yueling followed the path, lanterns hanging from the stone columns but unable to illuminate the way. To prevent ambushes, she used her tactical flashlight.

Passing several rock gardens and a small pond, she found a small house ahead. As she shone her light, a servant attacked with a hoe. Wu Yueling adjusted her stance, blocked with her gun, disarmed him, and fired, killing him.

Circling the house, unsure where to search, she blasted the door open with a grenade and shone her flashlight inside. The room was modest, and she saw Cui Lie and his servants. After searching inside, she heard cries from beneath the floor, silenced by curses.

Wu Yueling lay on the floor and listened. She heard faint sobs beneath; she realized, clever indeed, the house had a hidden cellar. Ancient people had wisdom, she mused.

She fired her gun at the wooden floor, crackling shots echoing inside. The hidden ones panicked; she tossed a grenade through the hole and stepped outside. With a boom, flames tore through the wood, splintering.

Shining her flashlight inside, she saw a secret chamber and stairs descending, though the blast had damaged them. She tested the steps—they still held.

Down in the secret room, she heard groans. Illuminating the space, she found two servants unconscious beside a chest, unsure if they were dead.

The source of the groans was twofold; she checked each. First, she shone her light on a servant pinned under a board—still alive. She was surprised to recognize him as Li Si, the man who had killed Ah Xue’s father in broad daylight yet escaped execution. Wu Yueling paused, then shot him.

Cui Lie sat slumped against the chest, hair disheveled, blood streaming from his brow, wretched and defeated, awakened by the gunshot.

“Do you know who I am?” Wu Yueling approached, lifted her straw hat.

“You... you’re... the Lu family's girl from Shili Village! How...” Cui Lie was incredulous; this person shouldn’t be here—she should have been killed or abducted by the bandits, not standing before him, especially wielding such terrifying weapons.

“I heard from the bandits that the Cui family paid for the massacre as revenge against me?”

Wu Yueling’s gaze was icy, her Uzi spinning in her hands.

“You... you witch, you nearly ruined my second son’s life. Your Shili Village is cursed; my son went mad there. If I didn’t wipe you out, my hatred would never subside! You’d only bring misfortune to others!” Cui Lie's face twisted with madness, a mocking grin on his ruined visage.

“I have hatred too. I never belonged here, but once I arrived, I resolved to live well—hardship didn’t trouble me. Yet you lorded over others, let your son harm innocent women, and anyone who crossed you had to die. But since you crossed me, shouldn’t you die as well?” Wu Yueling shot him in the arm.

Cui Lie rolled on the floor clutching his wound, like a dying mongrel. Wu Yueling shot him again, and he cried out hoarsely, “Spare me, don’t torture me with your witchcraft! This is my family’s secret vault—here lies two generations of our wealth. Please, spare me!”

Wu Yueling ignored him and shot his leg. Cui Lie writhed more violently, like a worm baking on hot sand.

“I’ll give you ten thousand taels of gold, countless copper coins, thousands of bolts of silk—spare my life, please!”

But the gun was merciless. With a final shot, Cui Lie died in his own vault. No amount of gold could buy back the seventy lives lost in Shili Village.

Wu Yueling took some unmarked gold and three strings of copper coins, leaving the blood-soaked Cui family mansion, stepping into the cold northern wind, ready to depart.