Three Steps: From Assassin to Empress - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Unexpected Assassin

12th year of Yongning, the Po Gang Canal in Jiangzhou.

“Mom, are you cold? Can we stop catching fish?”

In the pitch-black river, a child standing on tiptoe on a dark reef looked up at his mother fishing in the water, his teeth chattering. The old woman, immersed in the icy water, forced a smile and turned her face away. “Mom’s not cold.”

It was midnight. The water was frigid and dark, yet a group of people were in the rushing river, trying to catch fish. All because a nobleman on a pleasure boat suddenly had a whim for fresh perch. His retainers had woken them up in the middle of the night, kicking in their doors.

The surroundings were pitch black, but a boat not far away was lit by high-hanging candles. Several nobles watched from the bow, leisurely raising their golden goblets, enjoying the sight of these lowly commoners in such a wretched state.

A gust of wind from the river stirred up a whitecap. The child on the reef lost his footing and was about to fall. The hidden reefs in the river were sharp and slippery; a bump to the head could lead to a minor injury or, at worst, death. His mother, hearing the commotion, turned around abruptly, thrashing through the water to try and grab him, but it was too late to stop the fall.

A few small ripples spread across the river’s surface. A dark figure appeared out of nowhere, lightly touching the water with his feet, gliding across. The figure, tall and slender, scooped up the child and handed her to her mother.

The woman clutched her child tightly, letting out a long sigh of relief. She looked up at the man, about to thank him, but her heart suddenly clenched.

The person before her was clad in black, with a dark bamboo hat. A black silk ribbon tied his hair into a high ponytail. A silver-white mask of wrought iron covered his face, only revealing a pair of clear, delicate eyes that were starkly black and white, cold and serene. Looking down, she saw a gleam of cold light in his hand—a pearly-white sword scabbard.

Jiangzhou was a hub for east-west traffic, a confluence of rivers on the left of the Yangtze. Countless warlords and powerful figures passed through, bringing endless bloodshed. The woman quickly pulled her child behind her and braced herself to face the man, but when she looked up, he was gone.

Instead, a heavy cloth bag was thrown into her hand. It was weighty, filled with silver ingots. The woman looked in the direction he had gone, stunned. In the darkness, a swift black figure was already gliding toward the pleasure boat, leaving behind only a clear, youthful voice: “Go home quickly.”

After a brief silence, a loud splash was heard from the river. The woman, with the other fishermen, quickly waded to the shore, stepping on the reefs and running toward the bank without looking back.

The music on the pleasure boat abruptly stopped. Candles flickered everywhere, illuminating the uninvited guest who had lightly leaped onto the bow. The silver mask on the swordsman’s face caused a deathly silence on the boat; golden goblets dropped and rolled across the deck.

A retainer shouted, “Who are you?! And what are you here for?!”

Ying Xiu’s stance was tall and straight. He held his sword horizontally, gripping the hilt with one hand and the tip with the other. The long sword slowly slid from its scabbard, its blade gleaming with a cold light. He said softly, “I am here to kill someone.”

He looked around and politely asked, “May I ask where the Lord of Jiangzhou is?”

The Lord of Jiangzhou, Xiangli Jue, came from the Wu clan of southern nobles. He was a powerful figure in the Xunyang area of Jiangzhou, despising northern gentry and taking pleasure in tormenting commoners. This man was his target for the night.

The silver sword was cold and brilliant, unadorned. The young assassin held it casually, as if holding a sliver of moonlight.

Without another word, the retainers on the pleasure boat drew their own swords, their killing intent immense. Blades clashed, a metallic clang filling the air. The bright reflections of their swords danced in the spilled wine on the deck.

Ying Xiu’s movements were light. His robes fluttered like snow in the wind as he effortlessly leaped over the encirclement and across the deck. Bl00d dripped from the tip of his sword, leaving a trail of red.

Without killing a single person, Ying Xiu relied on his lightness to avoid the retainers. After searching for a while, he finally found the Lord of Jiangzhou huddled under a shrine in the boat’s hold.

“In Jiangzhou, you’ve built strongholds, defied the court’s orders, exploited tenants, and tortured and killed northern gentry,” Ying Xiu said calmly, pointing the crimson sword tip at the governor under the shrine. “Do you have an explanation?”

If he had offered a defense, Ying Xiu would have listened carefully, even though it might bring unexpected danger. But the Lord of Jiangzhou had no intention of defending himself.

“…I can give you silver, land, forts, tenants, retainers, and even the courtesan from Qinhuai River,” the sword’s tip remained steady. Xiangli Jue couldn’t help but question him: “You’re a ‘cangren’ (a derogatory term for northern gentry), you must be a ‘cangren.’ You’re here to avenge those lowborn ‘cangren,’ aren’t you?!”

In his fear of death, he cursed, “You people who have lost your homes and offices—if the regions of the left of the Yangtze hadn’t taken you in, you would have died by the hands of the Qiang people!”

The lord’s yelling was covered by a piercing sound. The sky suddenly brightened as a signal flare shot up from the neighboring pleasure boat, its light exploding in the sky. It was a signal from the retainers, and the Xiangli clan’s forces would arrive soon.

It was a little after 1 a.m., still a while before 3 a.m. According to his original plan, he should have acted at 3 a.m. After completing his mission, he would have used the bustling ships on the Po Gang Canal as cover and left on a pre-arranged boat.

To save the child, he had disrupted his plan. He was now four ke (an old Chinese unit of time, equal to 15 minutes) early. The fishing boats hadn’t set sail yet, and the river was empty. Once surrounded, he would be like a turtle in a jar. He could only stall until 3 a.m. when his escape boat would arrive.

Ying Xiu, holding the paralyzed lord, walked up to the bow, tied him to the mast, and sat down on a brocade stool, putting a sword to his throat. “I won’t kill him yet,” the masked assassin explained to the tense crowd on the boat. “I’ll kill him later.”

His honesty and blatant stalling made the retainers and servants of the lord hesitate. They suspected he had a hidden plan to lure out all of the Xiangli clan’s forces to wipe them all out. For a moment, they regretted shooting the signal flare.

After a two-second standoff, someone approached the mast slowly with their hands up, then suddenly flicked a sleeve, shooting several cold arrows. Ying Xiu didn’t even look at him. With a slight turn of his wrist, he flipped his sword and deflected all the hidden arrows back.

Four kes passed, from 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. Throughout the entire time, everyone on the boat, using every trick and hidden weapon they had, couldn’t even make the young assassin seem a little flustered.

At a little past 3 a.m., fishing boats began to appear on the Po Gang Canal. The Xiangli clan’s warships also arrived not far away, clearing the area and slowly surrounding the boat. His escape boat still hadn’t arrived.

He could see the archers on the warships setting up their crossbows. As soon as the sky grew a little brighter, they would fire, and he would be shot to death like a porcupine. He could no longer wait.

In front of everyone, the assassin decisively ran his sword through his target’s throat. He did a flourish with his still-dripping sword, and the mast ropes suddenly snapped. With a loud splash, the bleeding lord fell into the river, creating a huge ripple.

Using the splash as cover, Ying Xiu used his lightness to glide over the waves, tossing his hat and mask aside. He grabbed a rope ladder and quickly climbed aboard a large ship not far away, hiding in the corridor.

This ship was likely used by a noble family. It was painted gold on a green base, with pavilions rising from the deck, a display of understated luxury. Nobles usually traveled with their own armed guards. Boarding this ship was not much safer than staying on the pleasure boat. There were also fishing boats on the river, but in this era of a chasm between nobles and commoners, stepping onto a fisherman’s boat would only bring harm to innocent people. After considering all his options, he boarded this noble’s ship.

As a skilled assassin, Ying Xiu deftly navigated the corridors, listening for sounds. It was still 3 a.m., so the people in the pavilions were likely still asleep. As long as he avoided the ship’s guards, no one would discover him.

Even though he would only be on the ship for a short time and had no place to sit, Ying Xiu conscientiously left some silver on the ground. He couldn’t ride on someone else’s boat for free.

The surroundings were dark and quiet. Everything was still immersed in the pre-dawn gloom. Along both sides of the corridor, glass lanterns hung, their faint light flickering, occasionally rustling in the river breeze.

“Clang—”

Ying Xiu quickly ducked. An icy arrow grazed his fluttering hair and buried itself in a pillar. If he hadn’t dodged in time, the arrow would have pierced his heart. The archer’s skill was excellent. Perhaps he could learn from him someday to improve his own archery. That is, if he didn’t die by that person’s arrow.

Ying Xiu hid behind the pillar. With a twist of his wrist, his sword reflected the candlelight. Seizing the moment while the archer’s attention was elsewhere, he quickly pushed open the nearest screen door and slipped inside.

The moment he entered, silence fell outside. The archers on the mast held their crossbows, restraining their taut bowstrings, a look of horror flashing in their eyes. The young assassin who had boarded the ship with a sword had entered the emperor’s private quarters. It wasn’t their fault for being derelict in their duty. Who could have imagined that someone could climb a rope ladder and board a large ship in the middle of a river, without anything to stand on? What kind of martial arts and physical prowess was that? But since he had entered the private quarters, no matter how good his martial arts were, he was going to die.

When Ying Xiu stepped into the room, his first thought was how cold it was, both in temperature and atmosphere. The room was empty on all sides. Bamboo blinds swayed in the vast space. Southern nobles loved to talk about profound topics, and their courtyards and pavilions were often hung with light silks and fragrant incense to create an ethereal, otherworldly feeling. But here, there was nothing—no incense, no silk, just an empty, vast space.

A faint, warm, and metallic scent of bl00d hung in the air, a scent most familiar to an assassin. Ying Xiu turned his head, on guard, and met a pair of cool eyes. The man sat peacefully in the empty room, wrapped in a robe, his hand resting on a Konghou (a type of harp), as if preparing to play. His demeanor was graceful and serene. He didn’t wear makeup or large silken robes, and showed no signs of being high on stimulants. He was likely not a noble, but perhaps a retainer, a household guest, or an aide—someone supported by a noble family, at any rate.

To be precise, he looked more like a hermit, a quiet advisor who commanded things from behind the scenes. Under the glass lantern, the man in the white robe sat with his zither, like a banished immortal. The river breeze blew his plain robe, making it flutter, like an ancient painting.

For some reason, Ying Xiu remembered a phrase from a book: “Youthful and pure, with a graceful and beautiful demeanor.”

Ying Xiu held his breath, noting that the man’s dark hair was tied back with a silk ribbon and lay meticulously over his shoulders. Assassins usually tie their hair up before a close-quarters kill because bl00d is hard to wash out of hair. He was a little confused. Had this handsome hermit just finished a kill, too?

“Have you seen enough?” The hermit’s voice was cold and chilly, yet his tone was warm.

Hearing him speak, Ying Xiu was stunned again. His heart pounded more fiercely than ever before, causing him to ignore the sense of danger that had filled him the moment he stepped into the room.

“…You’re really handsome,” the boy’s voice trembled, honest and shy. A faint blush spread across his delicate face, and his eyes were bright, like two specks of starlight. The sword hidden in his robes was also trembling, shaking.

As an assassin, he rarely interacted with living people. He would occasionally say a few words to his targets. They would either cry and beg for mercy, or curse him. Most of the time, they did both. Unfortunately, no matter how lively their expressions were, they would soon turn into corpses. To him, assassinations were easy, but normal conversations were difficult. In any case, it was always better to be honest and polite, Ying Xiu thought.

Emperor Zhaosu held the Konghou and lightly plucked a string. A puddle of bl00d from a spy on the floor hadn’t been wiped clean, and now there was another naive young man in front of him. He was reckless and clumsy, barging in directly and staring at him without reservation, like a curious little deer peeking around. Was he a new assassin sent by them? He had never seen such an assassin.

Emperor Zhaosu put down the Konghou and began to walk toward the assassin.