The Record of the Soul-Piercing Cone

Liu Shan'er stood by the fish pond, bamboo basket in hand, her pale green skirt brushing the grass as she dipped it into the clear water. A carp splashed, scales glinting silver, and she laughed, "Brother Ling, look—this one's got red stripes!" Her voice rang with delight, damp hem clinging to her legs, the short sword at her waist swaying. Ling Yingjue watched from the bank, coarse tunic dry now, the Soul-Piercing Cone a steady weight, his faint smile softening the edges of his sharp face, "Pretty lively."

The pond mirrored the morning sky, willows drooping into the water, their branches swaying like silk threads in the breeze, wet grass and river mud thick in the air. He thought: Liu Village hides in simplicity, yet every detail speaks of care—more than meets the eye. Liu Shan'er clapped water from her hands, standing, "You were amazing yesterday—scared off Zhang Lie like that!" Ling Yingjue's smile faded, "Luck and a strange weapon. If he comes again, I'm not sure I'd hold." His eyes drifted to the woods, wind sharpening, unease creeping in.

She tilted her head, "Father's here—they wouldn't dare. He's checking that jade business; we'll be fine soon." She paused, "He left last night for Jiaxing—says the docks know everything." Ling Yingjue's hand brushed the pendant, suspicion flickering—Liu Changfeng's jade and his own, tied somehow? Before he could ask, the wind surged, a low rumble of hooves breaking through. He grabbed her arm, "Shan'er, back!" She tensed, sword half-out, whispering, "Them again?" Ling Yingjue's grip tightened on the cone, peering through the trees—shadows moved, too precise for chance, the air heavy with threat.

Beyond the woods, Zhang Lie gripped his broad blade, its red edge catching dawn's light, his bulk straining his dark robe, crimson wolf cloak billowing. Five lackeys flanked him, knives drawn, fishbone hilts gleaming—a brutal mark. Wind cut through the trees, leaves rustling, his voice a growl, "That kid's tougher than he looks—Liu Village won't shield him long." A lean scout muttered, "Boss, that shadow last night—who was it? Even you held back." Zhang Lie grunted, "No clue—too fast. Watch Liu Village; the jade's with that brat."

Hooves thundered as a rider galloped up, "Boss, Liu Changfeng hit Jiaxing docks last night—digging into something." Zhang Lie's eyes narrowed, "He's quick. Third's on it?" The scout shook his head, "No word, but a swift shadow was seen—same as yesterday." Zhang Lie's grip tightened, "Tell Third to lock Jiaxing—Liu can't get ahead. Tonight, we raid Liu Village; Changfeng's gone—it's ours." His sneer deepened, "That shadow shows, I'll test its steel."

In Liu Village's main hall, Liu Changfeng stood, his blue robe crisp, Liu Wind Sword a quiet threat. Two men flanked him—one with a spear, one with twin blades—both alert. The hall glowed warm, tea steam curling from a pot. His voice was firm, "Old man, what else did that shadow say?" The fisherman puffed his pipe, "Asked about the Swallow Jade—said Blood Blade's moving fast." Liu Changfeng's brow furrowed, "Blood Blade… Tell Third to guard Jiaxing—we ride back now." Hooves thundered as they sped into the mist.

By the pond, Liu Shan'er's basket dipped again, "Father'll sort it." Ling Yingjue nodded, but the wind's howl drowned her words—hooves, knives, a storm brewing in the trees.