Hearts Aligned - Chapter 2.2

The caravan members, now realizing something was terribly wrong, reached for their weapons, but as soon as they stood, they too collapsed one after another.

Porcelain tea bowls crashed to the floor, their sharp clatter drowned out by the relentless downpour.

Xiliu leaned against a wooden pillar, steadying herself as dizziness threatened to take hold. Yet through the sound of the rain, she could make out the rapid approach of heavy footsteps. Moments later, a towering man entered the tea shed, clad in a rain cloak and a bamboo hat, a long blade in his hand. Behind him trailed dozens of armed men, their presence suffocating the room.

“Gan’er, you’re taking far too long,” the burly man growled, his gaze sweeping over the unconscious bodies strewn across the floor. Their weapons lay abandoned, their strength clearly drained. “Made me wait out there for nothing!”

Despite the scene of utter defeat, the man—known as Tiger Master—noticed something was amiss. He frowned when there was no response from Gan’er, the shopkeeper. Suspicion flared in his eyes as he strode deeper into the tea shed, heading toward the stove at the back.

Then he froze.

Sitting atop the stove was the woman in purple. Her ankles, pale and bony, peeked out beneath the hem of her skirt. Her damp hair clung to her temples, beads of sweat glistening as the steam from the bamboo steamer enveloped her. A silver leaf hairpin swayed faintly as she moved, her expression cold and unyielding. In her hand, she held a thin, razor-sharp blade, its tip pressed firmly against the nape of Gan’er’s neck.

“T-Tiger Master…” Gan’er stammered, his face pale and drenched in sweat. Blood dripped from his mouth, his teeth shattered by the hilt of her blade. Forced to kneel, he trembled uncontrollably, unable to move.

A drop of blood slid from the blade’s edge, landing on Gan’er’s skin. He flinched violently, his breathing ragged. Tiger Master’s sharp gaze traced the bloodied blade up to the woman’s hand. On her tightly clenched grip, he noticed a deep, self-inflicted wound. It didn’t take long to understand—she had cut herself to stay alert.

“Gan’er, you’ve caused trouble for me,” Tiger Master said, his voice laced with ice.

He could tell immediately—this woman wasn’t someone to trifle with.

“Help me, Tiger Master! Save me!” Gan’er pleaded, his voice slurred and full of desperation.

Tiger Master ignored him. With a wave of his hand, his men surged forward, crowding the small tea shed as they charged at the woman in purple.

Xiliu moved with precision. Her blade sliced through Gan’er’s neck in a clean stroke, blood spraying as she withdrew the weapon. In a swift motion, she pivoted to avoid an incoming strike, slashing at the bamboo steamer with her blade. The scalding container flew through the air, crashing into several attackers and eliciting screams of pain as the steaming contents burned their skin.

Tiger Master’s face twitched, his confidence wavering as he watched her cut down his men with graceful, deadly efficiency.

She landed lightly on her feet, her movements fluid and controlled as her blades dispatched several of his men. Gritting his teeth, he charged forward, his blade raised.

Meanwhile, Jingzhe, barely able to stand, fought against his weakening body. He fumbled in his pocket and retrieved two pills. Swallowing one, he placed the other into Hua Ruodan’s mouth, though she remained unconscious. Across the room, the caravan steward, with the help of several others, staggered to his feet.

No one spared a glance at the grain sacks stacked inside the tea shed. Instead, they scrambled into the rain, desperate to escape the chaos.

“Tiger Master! They’re running!” someone shouted.

Distracted by the warning, Tiger Master hesitated. His blade clashed with Xiliu’s in a burst of sparks, but the force of her strike numbed his hand, nearly prying the weapon from his grip. Glancing around, he realized only a dozen of his men were still standing. Fear gripped him.

“Lady swordsman,” he said hastily, his voice laced with panic.

“We meant no offense. If you’ll let us go, I swear to split the grain and silver we take from the salt merchants evenly with you—”

Before he could finish, a dagger flew through the air, embedding itself deep in his back. Tiger Master froze, his eyes widening in shock.

“Tiger Master!”

The remaining dozen or so bandits froze in alarm, their expressions shifting to panic.

They turned as one, only to see a boy of thirteen or fourteen standing with a sinister smirk. “You think you can throw away lives for money? Watch as I take care of all of you today!”

Their leader lay lifeless on the ground, and the mountain bandits, gripped by fear, bolted toward the tea shed’s exit.

Jingzhe, quick to act, gave chase. A throwing knife left his hand, striking one of the fleeing men squarely. The man fell in front of a wagon, his blade accidentally slashing a horse’s leg.
The injured horse reared with a blood-curdling scream, its front hooves slamming down with force. The bandit beneath it choked out a final gasp, blood pouring from his mouth, before going still.

The horse, now wild with pain and panic, thrashed violently, causing a large chest secured on the wagon to tumble off with a heavy thud. The chest broke open upon impact, and a man rolled out, mud splattering as he tumbled to a stop at Jingzhe’s feet.

Jingzhe was mid-motion to throw another knife when he noticed the man’s fierce, unfamiliar eyes staring up at him. Before Jingzhe could react, a flash of silver streaked toward him.
A hand grabbed his collar and yanked him back just in time. The iron pellet missed him by inches, embedding itself deep into the wooden pillar behind him with a dull thunk.

Jingzhe turned, his heart pounding. “Xiliu…” he breathed, his voice unsteady.

Xiliu didn’t answer. She released him and turned her attention back to the man in the mud. The stranger, his face obscured by grime, sprang to his feet with startling agility. Instead of attacking, he reached into his coat and pulled out something unexpected.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots rang out, cutting through the relentless rain. Flashes of fire lit the downpour as one fleeing bandit after another crumpled to the ground, their chests blooming with bursts of red.

“A firelock?” Jingzhe muttered, wiping rain from his face, his expression grim.

“Master Tan, I beg you, put that thing away!” the caravan steward shouted weakly. Though his strength was drained from the drugged tea, he mustered all his energy to plead. “Don’t escalate this! Please!”

The dark barrel of the firelock still smoked faintly as Master Tan blew over its muzzle. His cold, calculating gaze shifted to Xiliu and Jingzhe, standing at the edge of the tea shed.

“Running off without finishing the job… why the hurry?”

Though his tone was calm, murderous intent radiated from every word.

“A firelock—government-issued,” Jingzhe whispered behind Xiliu. “Seems I’ve stumbled into something far worse than I expected.”

He clenched his jaw. If only he hadn’t chased the bandits, he wouldn’t have uncovered this dangerous secret.

“Did you give Miss Hua the antidote?” Xiliu asked softly, her focus never wavering from the armed man.

“Yes. It’s just a cheap sedative,” Jingzhe replied, carefully handing her another pill. He watched as she swallowed it and steadied herself. His hand hovered near the hilt of his second blade, his youthful face betraying a trace of unease. “Xiliu…”
Xiliu’s weapon was a pair of twin blades.

But she rarely needed to wield them both.

Unless she encountered an extraordinary opponent.

The rain fell steadily, a fine mist saturating the air. The sky hung low, an oppressive gray that seemed to darken with every passing moment. Xiliu turned her head slightly, raindrops trickling down her temple and dripping from the loose strands of her hair.

“Go inside and tend to her,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Unless I call for you, do not come out.”

The soft patter of rain mingled with the stillness, a veil over the mounting tension in the air.