by Aya Ling
"No surprises with Yao, the stakes are pretty low," the man grumbled. "He only lost once! Unless they bring a three-headed, six-armed man in here, I wouldn't think of laying odds against him."
"When will Yao be up?" Hong asked. "I've been hoping to see him fight up close; I'd better push through the crowds fast if I want to see him."
"Oh, he wouldn't be up for another hour," the man said, waving her off. "He's the reigning champion, they always save him for last. Are you planning to stake all your pitiful earnings on him, young one? I'd warn you that the winnings won't be as much as you think!"
"I see," Hong said, pretending to look disappointed. "Oh well, I suppose I shall have to content myself with watching him fight. A man named Invincible would be worth watching alone!"
"Ain't it so?" the man said, giving her a slap on the back. Remembering what Meng-Ting advised, Hong returned the gesture with a clap on the shoulder. "First time here, eh? Don't let your jaw fall on the ground!"
Hong grinned. "Well, in that case I'll take a small break. Save a place for me, would you?"
"Going to relieve yourself?" The man gave a raucous laugh. "Yeah, don't want to wet yourself if things get rough, huh?"
Hong managed a short laugh in response and turned away.
Once she had squeezed her way out of the crowd, doing her best to tolerate the smell of dirt and sweat, she scanned for the wounded tall man, who was being carried off the stage. A bald man shouted directions for the tall man to be carried upstairs.
Hong reached into her long sleeve and felt for her needles, which were packed securely in a tiny pouch. These were specially made of glass, so they were practically invisible when flashing through the air, their length not exceeding her little finger. Each of them was dipped in poison, courtesy of Meng-Ting.
The plan was simple—once Yao was on stage, she would loosen a needle and let it enter Yao's body. She would make sure to aim for the thigh, where the flesh was plentiful and so that none of the glass end would be visible. Each needle was dipped in the poison Meng-Ting slipped for her, right under Mrs. Yang's nose. The poison would take effect within seconds—when Yao was deep in a fight, his blood circulation would ensure that the poison would spread rapidly through his body, causing a numbness. His opponent, unknowingly, would be able to land a couple powerful blows. Yao would be beaten to death; even if he were only seriously injured, the poison would ensure he die afterwards.
The trick, however, was that she had to be close enough to the stage to take aim. Her glass needles were so tiny that they couldn't reach a long distance, and besides, she didn't want to accidentally harm anyone standing in front of her.
Making sure that she had everything ready, Hong hurried back to the crowd, pushing her way to the front. The smell of sweat and wine and bad breath made her want to hold her nose, the dirty clothes and clammy skin from some bare arms made her want to shrink back, but she kept going. Luckily, few people bothered her except for a couple disgruntled looks.
"All right, folks!" the co-manager called. He was a corpulent man whose lungs certainly granted him extra volume. "Next up is Mighty Bull from Chang-an, against a wandering swordswoman, Flying Swallow!"
A middle-aged man with powerful, log-like arms leaped on the stage, followed by a slender young woman. Although the woman was average-looking and conservatively dressed in grey robes, her hair concealed entirely in a grey cloth cap, several men in the audience started whistling and calling out lecherous comments. The woman, however, maintained a calm demeanour, as though she were meditating in the mountains instead of standing in a fight arena.
"Let the match begin!"
With a roar that echoed through the ceiling, Mighty Bull hit out with his huge hands, aiming for the abdomen. The audience held their breath; once hit by his tremendous strength, Flying Swallow would be dead on the spot. Her only chance was to dodge, though such a choice might lead to her falling off the stage.
But contrary to expectations, she didn't jump away. Her feet firmly pinned on the ground, Flying Swallow leaned backwards, her upper torso only a hand's breadth from the ground. Mighty Bull's attack met thin air.
A murmur of awe ran through the crowd. Even Hong was impressed by the woman's flexibility.
But Flying Swallow didn't just evade the attack. She planted her elbows firmly on the ground, supporting her weight, and raised her right leg instead, kicking out at Mighty Bull.
Bam!
Her foot struck Mighty Bull smartly on the throat. Strong as the Chang-an fighter might be, there was no way he could train his throat to be as solid and hard as his torso. Even though Flying Swallow's kick was not bone-shattering, it was enough to make him grunt in pain.
By now, those who had laid their odds against Flying Swallow looked crestfallen. In a match when the fighters could only rely on fists, women were usually at a disadvantage. Who'd have expected the young woman to be such a contender?
Hong was fascinated. No wonder Duel of Death was so popular; violent as it was, the show was truly captivating. Since Flying Swallow had a body build similar to hers, Hong could learn a few things about fighting to her advantage, simply by observing how the young woman bested a man almost twice her size.
A few minutes later, Flying Swallow won the game. With her amazing agility and reflexes, she had managed to hit several pressure points on Mighty Bull—enough so that he was rendered immobile. Hong had learnt from Meng-Ting early on that by applying pressure to certain areas of the body, blood flow would be interrupted and one might not move for hours.
"Ahem…" The co-manager coughed. "So the winner is—Flying Swallow!"
Amid stunned silence, the young woman stepped gracefully off the stage and strode to the men in charge of the winnings. Apparently, she had staked a sizable amount on herself.
"Damn!" The man near Hong, who had lost half his savings in the previous match, was almost in tears. "All my savings gone and now I owe them as well! Damn!"
Three more competitions. More cheers and hoots from the crowd. Then the betting for the final match—the showdown between the Invincible Yao and a champion boxer from the South was announced.
Hong could feel her hands growing clammy with sweat. She chided herself for being so nervous; she had to stay calm. While she didn't like killing another, even though she had been at the job for a year, the thought of Ah-Ming's depressed little face steeled her nerves.
From the long house that was heavily guarded, the champion boxer from the South marched out. Two armed guards escorted him to the stage.
"Mo! Mo! Mo the King of Fists!" chanted some of his supporters. "Beat down Yao! Break down Yao! Strip him of his title!"
"Yao is invincible!" supporters of Yao shouted back.
"Yao, come out! Show this Southerner a piece of your mind!"
The chanting went on, growing louder and louder. The Southern champion finished warming up and waited on the left side of the stage, his gaze fixed on the other entrance of the long house. Yao should have appeared by now.
"Where is Yao?"
"We want Yao!"
"It's time now!"
Something felt wrong. Hong craned her neck to see where Yao would emerge.
A figure finally appeared.
Manager Liang, the owner of Duel of Death, strode out from the long house. His face was whiter than the finest cooked rice. He leaped on the stage and held up both of his hands, motioning for the crowd to be silent.
"There will be no final match."
Uproar from the crowd.
"What do you mean, no final?"
"I journeyed a whole day to see the match!"
"What happened to Yao? Was he sick?"
Liang held up his hands again. The buzz gradually died away. The manager paused, as though weighing his words.
"The reason for the cancellation is because," he said clearly, "Yao is dead."
FOURTEEN
"Excuse me, but can you tell me if the compound over there belongs to a man called Yao?"
&n
bsp; "Yes. It belongs to the Yaos. Mr. Yao lives with his mother."
Fang walked down the street leading to Yao's residence. It was lined with drooping willows and the road itself was smooth and paved with flat stones. He was at first surprised that Yao lived in such a nice neighbourhood—it resembled Chow and Opal's, in fact—but then Yao's status as the star fighter of Duel of Death could certainly allow him to live comfortably. It was just that Fang had not expected the fighter would live in a peaceful, serene environment, as though Yao preferred to be kept out of the hustle and bustle of the world instead of stirring up excitement in the arena.
Fang recalled back at Heavenly Pleasures, when he had met Manager Liang in person for the first time. Fang had been reluctant to see Liang, especially given the premises, but it saved him time enquiring around for Yao's address. He was also surprised at the manager's readiness to tell him, but perhaps the presence of Jade Fairy helped. She had filled Liang's cup with wine and handed it to him with the most graceful curtsy, as though she were serving the emperor.
If only one day Hong would serve him wine like Jade Fairy did… it wouldn't take a dragon throne to make him feel like an emperor.
Fang reached the house. He lifted his hand to knock on the red-lacquered door with a mixture of trepidation and hesitation. It seemed stupid, silly—nay, even ridiculous—to be walking up to Yao's house and asking the fighter if he had murdered Opal. What if Yao's mother was also in the house? What would she say?
No, of course he wouldn't ask Yao outright if he'd killed the girl. He would phrase it differently—something like asking what Yao was doing that day. He first wanted to make sure that Yao wasn't anywhere near Opal's house at that time. A part of him didn't want to accuse Yao, not when he'd discovered that the fighter lived with his mother. Violent as the reports might be, Fang did not feel like incriminating a man who still took care of his old mother.
Fang knocked on the door. To his surprise, it swung open quite easily. Apparently Yao or his mother did not bother to lock it.
"Mr. Yao?" Fang called. "Mrs. Yao?"
Only the sound of a robin chirping answered him. Strange. If no one was home, why was the door unlocked? If Yao was home, then why did no one answer the door?
The door, which was still half-open, revealed a spacious living room that was neatly furnished. The furniture was arranged in an orderly manner and appeared to be spotlessly clean, but a set of muddy footprints on the floor jumped out in stark contrast.
"Yao?" Fang called again. "I'd like to have a few words with you. It won't take long."
Still no answer.
Then he spotted a tiny red stain on the floor. Was it blood?
The uneasiness he was feeling became much stronger, accompanied with a streak of fear. Of course, the blood could be from a heavy bout of training, but still…
Fang entered the living room. There was a door in the far end of the room—it was open. He probably should leave—but curiosity got the better of him. Fang moved to the door and walked past the entrance.
A man lay sprawled on the ground, face to the floor, and a pool of blood near his mouth.
Fang couldn't believe his eyes. Was this—Yao?
He crouched, gingerly turned the body over, and promptly received a nasty shock. The man's eyes were wide open, his expression so stiff and frozen that he could only be dead.
Footsteps approached the house.
"Yao! Come out this instant, you have a fight with the Southern champion tonight!"
Another man burst in the room. When he saw Fang kneeling on the floor, cradling the dead body, the newcomer let out a yell.
"Yao! Impossible!"
Fang's fears were confirmed. The Invincible Yao… dead? But there wasn't a knife or sword sticking out from his body. Only the trickle of blood from his mouth. Which meant that someone must have killed the star fighter with bare hands.
"You!" The newcomer stared at him, his eyes cold and hard. "Why did you kill him?"
Hong was dumbstruck. Yao was dead already? Who could have killed him right before his match?
Below the stage, cries of "Unbelievable!" "So sudden!" "Was it a heart attack?" could be heard, mostly in tones of astonishment and irritation. The Southern champion, sitting on the corner of the stage, looked displeased. Obviously, he had been hoping to show off his skills before the audience and destroy Yao's invincibility. Without a worthy opponent, all his plans were now for naught.
Manager Liang held up a hand. It took some time before the crowd had quietened down enough for his voice to be heard.
"As of now, we are still trying to find out the cause of Yao's death. I am sorry to deprive you of a good show, but remember, we still have plenty of excellent fighters at Duel of Death! Tomorrow, we shall arrange for King of Fists to duel with Whirlwind Ko—let me assure you, it shall be a fight not to be missed! The attendance fee will be one string of coppers only—half price off! You may leave now, but don't forget to show up for tomorrow night!"
"Now what's the fun in that?" the man whom Hong had talked to earlier said. "Whirlwind Ko may be slippery, but he gives up too easily. If he finds the chance of winning too small, then he'll fake an injury and lose. The show'll be over in less time than an incense stick burning to an end."
Most of the audience seemed to share the same sentiment. Muttering and grumbling, the crowd slowly dispersed.
Hong took one last look at the stage before she left. While Manager Liang was still smiling and entreating the audience to come back, another man with a huge potbelly waddled up to him and whispered something in his ear. Liang's expression changed instantly, but just for a second.
Feeling that Yao's death was no simple matter, Hong slipped away. At least, she would have saved Meng-Ting the expense of some costly drugs.
An hour later, Hong returned to the governor's dwelling. She had rushed to Meng-Ting's place to change her male attire into her usual blue robe.
Meng-Ting wasn't there. Only Ah-Ming was sitting on a tall stool at the counter, crushing some herbs into powder with a ceramic pestle. Probably Meng-Ting was suddenly called away to see a patient.
Since Ah-Ming didn't know about her secret identity, Hong had to sneak in the back door. In a flash she retrieved her maid outfit and wiped off the yellow paint on her face. After double-checking her reflection in the mirror, she hurried back to the governor's.
To her surprise, there was a luxurious sedan chair sitting in front of the main entrance. It had gilded trappings and red satin curtains, clearly belonging to someone of great wealth or status. Four men who looked like official servants loitered nearby, all in navy blue and grey uniforms.
Once in the courtyard, Hong almost bumped into Golden Lotus, who was carrying a large teapot.
"Master Shue is entertaining some guests, I suppose?" Hong asked. "Do you know who the guests are?"
Golden Lotus jumped, nearly sending the teapot crashing to the floor. "Oh, Hong!" she wailed, clearly distressed. "Terrible, terrible news has reached us!"
Hong quickly took the teapot; it was quite heavy for a small woman like Golden Lotus. "What news?"
"They… they say Master Fang has committed murder!"
"Fang?" In her surprise, Hong forgot to add the honorific. "What are you talking about? Who did he kill?"
The little maid wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. "I don't know exactly who it is, but the dead person's mother is here, demanding justice. Master Shue is currently with the magistrate in the parlour. Oh dear, I must be going to comfort poor nurse Chang. She was devastated to hear that Young Master Fang had done such a thing. She's been in hysterics and couldn't eat a bite of dinner."
Nurse Chang was the old nurse who cared for Fang and a couple of other sons. It was customary for upper-class families to employ nursemaids to breastfeed babies instead of the biological mother. Fang's mother had passed away early when he was only ten years old. Hong still remembered her—a kind lady who had given her a dainty bronze mirror and even asked if she'd li
ke to become her daughter-in-law when she grew up.
"I must go," Hong said. "Is this tea meant for the guests?" When Golden Lotus nodded, Hong touched her shoulder. "Go to Nurse Chang. I'll take the tea to the parlour."
The parlour was a spacious hall with low mahogany chairs lining both sides of the hall. In the back centre, a larger chair was placed for the master of the house. Here sat Shue Song, his lips tightly pressed. His right hand was gripping his knee, and he looked tired and frustrated. On the left sat his sons and daughter, and Fang looked particularly distressed. Lynn had her hand on his elbow and was glaring at the guests.
On the right side was the magistrate, who was leaning back on his chair with an air of irritation. His expression indicated that he disliked being here and wanted to get the matter over with quickly. Near him was an elderly woman dressed in a rumpled grey robe. Her hair, streaked with white, was messily combed and tendrils were hanging out of her bun. On the left side sat Manager Liang and two other men, presumably from Duel of Death as well. One of them was the co-manager—Hong recognised him from his massive size. The other was a short but muscular young man with an egg-shaped head.
"I demand justice be done!" the old woman shouted. "It was my only son. My only support left in life!"
Fang started to speak, but Shue held up his hand.
"Mrs. Yao, please calm down," Shue said. "I'm terribly sorry to hear of your loss, but there is no proof that Fang committed the crime."
"He was found with my son's body!" shrieked Mrs. Yao, her shrill voice seeming to pierce the roof. "I tell you, I don't care what happens to me. I have no fear as I am going to die soon anyway. But I want to see my son's life avenged!"
Shue looked towards the magistrate. "Who saw my son with the body?"
"Little Tiger did," Manager Liang said, indicating the young man with an egg-shaped head. "I sent him to Yao's and he found your son kneeling over the dead body."
Little Tiger nodded. "Yao was late for his match, so Master Liang had me fetch him."