Li Yesheng's father had died the year before. The family's land and possessions fell to him as eldest son, and he couldn't have been happier. He sold a patch of land for drinking money and spent his days loitering — through the village, up the mountain, anywhere but work. He stole. He harassed. In all of Lijing Village, he feared no one except his uncle Li Mutian.
His younger brother Li Yesheng... that was another matter. The boy was the same age as Li Xiangping, but while Xiangping had studied under the village teacher from childhood, young Yesheng was alone, hungry, cold. At barely twelve, he had lost his father and now spent his days herding ducks and watching cattle. Without the Li family's occasional help, he would have starved.
Li Yesheng didn't care. What gnawed at him was the sight of Li Changhu's family walking in and out of that courtyard of green brick and high walls. Envy burned in his chest like live coals.
*"We share the Li name. Why are you main branch and I the collateral? Why do you have fields and a mansion while I have nothing? Who builds a compound like that unless there's treasure inside?"*
A memory surfaced: several years ago, a tense night, urgent faces, Li Mutian gripping a blade.
*"Li Mutian has treasure."*
He chewed a stalk of dogtail grass, watching Li Changhu chat with tenant farmers in the fields. *"Just born to the right father."*
He dozed beneath a tree. When night fell thick and dark, he spat out the grass and crept toward the Li compound.
He circled the walls. Not a single crack. The brickwork was smooth and seamless. No climbing it.
*"Dog."* He spat at the wall, then turned and scrambled up the back mountain.
---
The mountain behind Lijing Village was one peak of the winding Great Li range. Locals simply called it Back Mountain. Over the southern slope lay Meichi Peak, and beyond that, Jingyang Village.
Li Yesheng pushed through the brush, climbed a goat path for half an incense stick's time, and found a rocky outcrop with a clear view of the courtyard below.
He squinted. Blurry figures moved in the yard — sitting cross-legged, carrying boulders. *"Are they practicing some martial art? Did Li Mutian find a battle manual out there and teach it to his brats in secret?"*
The clouds swallowed the moon. Darkness swallowed everything.
Mountain gibbons howled. Jackals barked. A cold wind slid up Li Yesheng's loose trousers, and he clamped his legs together, dropping onto a rock. Snot streamed from his nose.
*"Damn creepy."*
He sat a while longer, shivering, and composed the rumors he would spread: *old family heirloom — I'm a Li too, where's my share? martial arts? — who cares, I'll sell it for drinking money.*
Looking down, the courtyard was empty. Shrugging, Li Yesheng tightened his sleeves and rose to leave.
"Mother—!"
He spun. There, standing silent on the mountain path, was a figure. He scrambled backward behind the boulder, pissing himself.
Then he peered out. The figure had delicate, fine features. It was his cousin Li Xiangping — looking down at him with cold, calm eyes.
Li Yesheng puffed himself up, ready to bluster — and saw the seal forming in Xiangping's hand.
"What—"
A blade of golden light filled his vision. His throat opened. The world spun: bright moon, dark courtyard, bright moon, dark courtyard. His head tumbled through the air and landed on the path. His fading consciousness registered — dimly, with dull surprise — the icy smile on his cousin's face. A face he had never truly seen before.
Behind the boulder, his headless corpse slumped. Hot blood pulsed across the rock, the soil, the dead leaves, pooling near Xiangping's feet.
Xiangping stepped back, studied the body, and formed another seal. Methodically, he hacked the corpse into manageable pieces — the right size for the night's scavengers to scatter across the mountain.
Done, he straightened. The shadows around him gleamed with green pairs of eyes.
"Enjoy your meal," he said, dusting off his hands.
---
In the Li courtyard, Li Changhu emerged from meditation to find both his brothers gone. The back yard was silent save for insects. Puzzled, he went to the front courtyard and found Li Tongya alone at the wooden table.
"Where's Xiangping?"
"Washing his hands." Li Tongya rolled up a wooden slip.
"Tongya, are you preparing to form the Profound Vision Wheel?" Li Changhu leaned on the table, voice tinged with envy.
"A few more days to gather the eighty-one strands. Compared to Chijing, we're far behind — I want to prepare longer."
Li Tongya took a strip of white cloth and wrapped it tight around the wooden slip, tying a slipknot.
"Elder Brother," he said, looking up with sudden intensity, "which of us do you think most resembles Father?"
"You." Li Changhu didn't hesitate. Then he paused, sat down, and continued. "I'm too soft. Xiangping is too restless. Chijing is too shy. Only you, Li Tongya — calm, steady, unreadable — you're the one most like him."
Li Tongya laughed dryly and shook his head. "Stop flattering me. I think Xiangping is most like him."
"Why?"
"When we were children," Li Tongya said quietly, "Father once told us about his first kill. Some men, after killing, their ears ring, their stomachs heave, they shake and can't stop. Others rage and bellow at the sky. Only Li Mutian, after his first kill — he sheathed his blade, poured himself wine, and laughed."
He leaned close to Li Changhu's ear.
"Xiangping is most like Father. Because he is cruel enough."