The battle had been a mistake. Jiang Dao knew it the moment it was over. The clash of steel and the scent of blood had been a beacon, calling every evil spirit lurking in the oppressive darkness.
Without that fight, they might have slipped by unnoticed. Even if they had been spotted, it wouldn't have been by so many. But now, their escape plan was in shambles.
"We're turning back," Jiang Dao said, his voice a low gravel. "We'll leave at dawn."
No matter what tomorrow threw at them, he would get his family out. He would kill anyone who stood in his way.
"Back?" Pang Lin asked, his surprise evident.
"We have to," Jiang Dao said, a bitter edge to his tone.
"Right," Pang Lin nodded, immediately turning to rally the men. "You heard him! Back to the Jiang mansion!"
The order rippled through the trembling group. No one dared to hesitate. They wheeled the carriages around, their faces pale with fear.
"What's happening?" Third Mistress Qian Ruchun whispered nervously. "Why are we going back? Is the road blocked?"
"Quiet," her husband, Jiang Dalong, murmured. "Dao'er knows what he's doing." The other concubines shivered, pulling their shawls tighter and pressing closer to him.
The convoy reversed its course.
Mounted on his tall warhorse, Jiang Dao brought up the rear, his eyes locked on the alleyway where the creature still lingered. A grotesque smile twisted its features, but it made no move to follow, simply watching them go.
Only when the last carriage was safely past did Jiang Dao allow himself a quiet breath of relief. He backed his horse away slowly, melting back into the darkness with his family. Once out of the creature's sight, they spurred their horses, a frantic rush back to the temporary safety of the Jiang estate.
Half an hour later, they were home.
"Master! Young Master, you have to see this!" a servant shrieked from the front gate.
Jiang Dalong, stepping down from his carriage, was about to snap at the man for the outburst, but the words died in his throat. The blood drained from his face.
"What… what is this? Who did this?"
Jiang Dao spurred his horse forward, his brow furrowed. When he reached the gate, his jaw tightened.
The white lanterns hanging by the entrance, meant to be symbols of peace, were no longer white. Scrawled across each one in what looked like blood-red ink was a single, chilling character:
[DEATH]
In the flickering lantern light, the words seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy that clawed at the soul. A cold wind whispered through the courtyard, carrying a palpable dread. The estate no longer felt like a home, but like an open tomb.
"Dao'er," Jiang Dalong stammered, his voice trembling. "Is this… is this their work, too?"
"Get those lanterns down. Now," Jiang Dao commanded.
"Quickly!" Jiang Dalong echoed, finding his voice. "Take them all down!"
But the servants were frozen in terror, refusing to move. They stared at the cursed objects, wanting nothing more than to be a thousand miles away. Jiang Dalong raged, but his threats were useless against their primal fear.
"Useless fools!" he finally bellowed. "Fifty taels of silver to whoever takes them down!"
Still, no one moved. The silver wasn't worth their soul.
With a snort of contempt, Jiang Dao kicked his horse into a charge. In a single fluid motion, his saber hissed from its sheath, a blur of silver and crimson light that sliced through the air.
CRACK! CRACK!
Two of the lanterns exploded in a shower of sparks and shredded paper. Jiang Dao landed lightly on his feet, his saber humming.
"It's a cheap trick," he said, his voice cold as ice. "There's no danger. Now take down the rest."
Seeing their young master unharmed, and with the promise of a reward finally breaking through their fear, a few brave servants rushed forward and began tearing down the remaining lanterns.
Jiang Dao's eyes swept the perimeter, searching the shadows for any lurking observers. Seeing nothing, he sheathed his saber and strode into the mansion. As the last lanterns were extinguished, the courtyard plunged into near-total darkness, but Pang Lin's men were quick to light torches, planting them in the ground and casting a warm, defiant glow against the night.
"Nobody sleeps in their rooms tonight," Jiang Dalong announced, his voice regaining some of its authority. "We all stay here in the courtyard. We'll make do until morning."
The staff nodded, hurrying to unload supplies. Fires were built, water was put on to boil, and bedrolls were laid out for the family. Slowly, the courtyard filled with light and warmth, pushing back the oppressive gloom.
After a final patrol of the front courtyard, Jiang Dao returned to his father's side. The back of the estate would have to wait. The compound was too large, and he couldn't risk an attack on the family if he strayed too far. They would hold out here until sunrise.
A nervous energy hung over the entire group. The servants, after tending to the family, huddled together in tight knots, seeking comfort in numbers.
"Young Master," Pang Lin said, offering him a steaming cup. "Some hot tea."
"Thank you, Master Pang." Jiang Dao took the cup but set it aside, his mind elsewhere. No one felt like eating or drinking. They just sat, and they waited, every snap of a twig in the wind sending a fresh jolt of fear through them.
The night crawled by, each minute an eternity.
Finally, just as the darkness felt absolute, a rooster crowed. A faint, grey light began to bleed into the eastern sky, chasing away the shadows. Then came the dawn—a brilliant burst of crimson and gold that promised a new day, a new world.
A collective sigh of relief washed over the courtyard. They had survived.
"It's over, it's over," Jiang Dalong murmured, comforting one of his wives. He rose and walked to his son. "Dao'er, what's the plan? Do we still leave?"
"We leave," Jiang Dao said, his voice firm. "As soon as we've eaten."
"But if we go, the other merchants, the townspeople… they'll all try to flee. What if the authorities try to stop us? What if they make an example of us?"
"Let them try," Jiang Dao said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "The government offers us no way out, so we'll make our own. If they try to stop us, we'll carve a bloody path right through them."
He had pushed his martial arts to their absolute limit, achieving a level of power that shouldn't be possible for a hundred years. They were simple, external techniques, but at this level of mastery, they were terrifyingly effective. No ordinary army could hope to contain him. If he were forced to unleash his full power, the officials would pay a steep price.
Jiang Dalong, though still anxious, nodded. The true head of the family was no longer him, but his son.
Suddenly, a servant came sprinting back from the gate, his face a mask of pure terror. "Master! Young Master! You have to come! At the gate!"
"What is it now?" Pang Lin demanded, intercepting him.
"There's… there's a message!" the servant gasped.
Jiang Dalong's face went white as he ran for the entrance, but Jiang Dao was already there, his feet skidding to a halt. His pupils contracted.
Drawn on the stone ground just outside the main gate was a thick, crimson line of what looked like fresh blood. It stretched for dozens of feet, a gruesome barrier.
And written in the same blood just beyond it was a single, sinister sentence:
[Ten steps past the red line, and you die.]
A murderous resolve hardened in Jiang Dao's heart. They're asking for it.