Chapter One: Deadly Journey Chapter Four: Life as Fleeting as Grass

"That is wonderful!" Yun Niang quietly wiped away the traces of tears on her face. Looking at her, who had pulled herself together, she forced a smile and said, "Die Niang, I am truly glad to see you step out of the shadows at last!"

“I have long heard of your reputation as the Violet Rakshasa, and now that I see you, it is clear the name is well deserved. To withstand the ordeal of life and death, and to recover in such a short time—truly, I am filled with admiration.” The mysterious voice sounded again. In the distance, a small white dot appeared in the forest, standing out starkly against the night shrouded in clouds.

After flickering left and right, the white figure emerged before them: a long robe as white as snow, a ghost mask patterned in black and white, and an inscrutable presence, warning all that this was a most dangerous person.

"Who are you?" Die Niang eyed him warily from head to toe.

"One Sage, Two Gods, Seven Dragon Warriors, Ten Heaven’s End, Twelve Star Demons." The scholar in the Confucian robe looked at the masked figure in white and replied calmly, "The Lord overestimates me, to have sent Bai Ying, one of the Two Gods, to take my life. I am truly honored."

"Very few can name my identity at first glance." Bai Ying, too, studied the scholar, his gaze filled with appreciation. "The Lord knows you best. It seems you do indeed know too much." Folding his hands behind his back, he wore an expression of effortless composure.

"Die Niang, go! Take them and leave at once!" Watching the black-clad men who had followed Bai Ying gather around them once more, the first thought of the scholar was the safety of his daughter.

"Heh… Do you really think you can still escape?" Bai Ying glanced at Ling’er, his eyes full of confidence.

"What do you want?" Yun Niang sensed the danger to Ling’er and hurriedly stepped forward, shielding her with tense vigilance. This man was unreadable.

"My daughter is just a child. She knows nothing! If you seek vengeance, take it out on me!" The scholar cast a look of infinite love at Ling’er, then barked at Die Niang, "Why haven’t you left?"

"But what about you?" Die Niang hesitated.

"Don’t worry, Yun Niang is here. Go quickly!"

"Fine—we’re leaving!" Die Niang bit her lip against her tears, gazed at them deeply, and stamped her foot.

She bent down and scooped up Ling’er, who was still bewildered. Before the assassins could react, she tapped the ground with her toes, leapt into the air, twisted lightly through the night, and landed more than thirty feet away.

Without pause, she borrowed force from the tips of the grass and, trailing wisps of wind, slipped deep into the forest…

"I will hold them here. Go, pursue them!" Even though the two had slipped away right under his nose, Bai Ying remained unhurried. "My task is to bring back the object. As for your daughter, I have given her a chance; whether she escapes or not is up to fate."

"They're poisoned—they won’t get far! After them!" a killer shouted, taking off in pursuit.

"Courting death!" With Yun Niang’s sharp cry, a streak of silver light shot after the fleeing assassin.

His body lurched forward from momentum and collapsed, lifeless, at once.

"Taking lives from a thousand miles away, chasing souls across ten thousand—what a Soul Chasing Needle!" Bai Ying looked at the needle in Yun Niang’s hand and offered sincere praise.

Then, in the next instant, a dagger appeared in his hand. Its blade was about four inches, blood-red, exquisitely crafted, sharp enough to cut a hair.

Gazing at the dagger, he murmured as if coaxing a child, "Little one, you’ve met your match today. Don’t fail me!"

"Blood Dagger?!" Yun Niang gasped as she recognized the crimson blade.

"Go, little one!" With a flick, the dagger became a streak of red light, shooting toward Yun Niang.

Startled, she steeled herself and, for the first time, unleashed all her silver needles—thirty-six dazzling streaks met the Blood Dagger head-on.

"Ugh!" With a muffled groan, she felt a sweetness at her throat as blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She knew the poison had reached her heart, her vital energy in chaos—she could not hold out much longer.

"Yun Niang, stop! They want me. I’ll go with them! If you throw your life away now, what of our daughter? You must live for her!" The scholar’s heart twisted with anguish as he saw the color drain from Yun Niang’s face.

Bloodshot eyes glared at the black-clad men who surrounded but did not attack. Seizing a chance, he snatched a steel blade from the nearest assassin and pressed it to his own throat. "Yun Niang, go! Go now!"

"Husband," Yun Niang wailed as she saw blood already seeping from the blade at his neck. Her mind fell into chaos.

She threw back her head and screamed, "You forced me to this! You all deserve to die!" Ignoring the threat of the Blood Dagger, she swept her hand—wherever her thirty-six silver needles flew, a life was claimed.

But she herself was pierced through the chest by the Blood Dagger. It must be the hour of Mao by now, she thought. Yet her vision grew ever darker. "Die, forgive me! I cannot stay by your side any longer. Husband, your wife goes ahead to wait for you!" With longing on her face, she fell limply to the ground.

A childish cry flickered and vanished...

"There they are—after them!" The killers, searching in confusion, heard the faint cry and rushed in pursuit.

"Yun Niang," the scholar watched her fall, powerless. He laughed wildly at the heavens, then shouted, "You want what I carry? Come, follow me to the Underworld if you dare!" With that, he jerked the blade, blood spattering in all directions, the long knife clattering to the ground.

He closed his exhausted eyes at last. He was too tired—he needed rest.

A sigh; no one can stop a man ready to die—not even Bai Ying. The scholar was dead.

This was an undeniable fact. The Lord’s task for Bai Ying had succeeded and failed all at once.

For the object the Lord so desperately sought had perished with the scholar. If any schemer should find it and make use of it, not even the Lord could control what might follow. That was the Lord’s true concern—far more than the scholar’s death.

Shaking his head to dismiss the chaotic thoughts, Bai Ying turned to go report his failure.

"Hmm?" He crouched beside a black-clad corpse, pulled out a silver needle, and examined it in puzzlement. "Not a Soul Chasing Needle?"

He straightened, gazing after Die Niang’s vanished figure, and murmured meaningfully, "Little sister, I hope we meet again."

After escaping the killers, Die Niang carried Ling’er straight toward Ganliang Pass.

But they had not gone far when the heart-wrenching wail of Yun Niang, and the crazed laughter of the scholar, drifted to them on the wind.

She guessed the tragedy behind her, and told herself not to cry. But when she turned and saw Yun Niang's body slowly collapse, tears she thought had run dry welled up again.

Suddenly she remembered Ling’er. She clamped a hand over the child's mouth, swallowing the word "Mother" before it could escape.

Enough had died—she would not let Ling’er follow them.

Dragging the sobbing, struggling child with her, Die Niang found a thick patch of grass, forced her down, and held her tight, stifling her cries so the killers would not discover their hiding place.

Her own tears would not stop. She bit through her lower lip, forcing the pain deep inside, hiding it in the depths of her heart.

At last, Ling’er quieted a little, only to witness her father’s suicide with his blade. The child thrashed, sobbing, muffled by Die Niang’s hand.

In her desperation, Ling’er twisted and bit down hard.

A sharp pain shot through Die Niang’s hand, and she instinctively released her grip.

Freed, Ling’er leapt up and ran toward her parents’ bodies. Alarmed, Die Niang struck her with a hand chop, knocking her out.

Cradling the unconscious child, Die Niang hid again, watching the killers draw near. She took out the purple jade flute, placed it in Ling’er’s canvas pack, then wrapped the pack in oilcloth and laid Ling’er flat.

She scooped up fallen leaves and covered the child until she was completely hidden. After one last lingering look at the mound, Die Niang dashed away in another direction.

"There she is—after her!" A killer spotted her and gave chase.

Perhaps fearing the thunderstorm, a crow streaked through the clouds, swept over the treetops, and before the rain came, found refuge in the blue canopy of an abandoned carriage, preening its tattered feathers in relief.

A gust of wind lifted the curtain, a flash of blue drifting before the crow’s eyes.

A thunderclap shattered the air, startling the bird. It flapped away with frightened cries.

Raindrops big as beans fell mercilessly, as if the heavens wept for a loyal soul’s bitter end.

The rain slanted on leaves, quivered the grass, and roused the only living being in the deep mountains.

Rainwater slid down a blade of grass, splashing cool across her cheek, waking her from unconsciousness.

A bare hand trembled under the leaves. She slowly opened her eyes. A mischievous drop slipped into her eye, making her blink and rub it with the back of her hand. When she opened her eyes again, all she saw was a curtain of rain. She brushed away the leaves covering her and sat up.

The sky was dim. Other than the rain, all was silent. The pelting drops left her lost and disoriented.

She struggled to her feet, only to trip over something at her feet.

Looking down, she saw an oilcloth bundle lying quietly before her, the purple jade flute protruding from one end.

Images from before she lost consciousness flashed through her mind, ending with the moment her parents fell, blood spraying.

"Father! Mother!" The orphan’s heart-rending cry echoed through the rain, reverberating in the mountains.

A flash of lightning split the sky, thunder crashing—rain fell harder, as though mourning her sorrow.

She staggered to her feet in the rain, clutching the bundle, slipping and stumbling toward the carriage she remembered.

No matter what dangers lay ahead, she pressed on, desperate to find her parents—even if only their corpses.

"Father! Mother! Where are you?" Darkness wrapped the land, obscuring all direction. Ling’er was more afraid than she’d ever been.

"I’m coming for you! Can you hear me? Answer me!" She ran, crying, calling, never stopping.

When she fell, she crawled up and ran again. If she was cut, she rubbed the pain away and kept going. She did not know how long she ran.

At last, her tears ran dry, and the rain ceased. But where had her parents gone?

She was so tired.

Yet she forced herself on, telling herself again and again: Father and Mother are just ahead—I must not stop.

Finally, at the sight of an unfamiliar slope and a faintly visible road below, despair overwhelmed her.

Her vision went black, her body gave way, and she tumbled down the slope—knowing nothing more.