Nine Nights Owl Song

In the seventeenth year of Yong'an, on the thirtieth day of the eleventh month, in Liangzhou.

It would take an ordinary person half a month to travel from Luoyang to Liangzhou by official road.

Su Jiuge used it in less than four days.

She traveled day and night, changing horses but not her rider.

They rode horses during the day and used their light-footed skills to travel at night. When they got tired, they would meditate and recuperate for an hour in a dilapidated temple or woods by the roadside before continuing on their way.

The wound on my left shoulder ached faintly from the long journey, and the scab was repeatedly rubbed by my clothes, causing the edges to lift and reveal the tender, red new flesh underneath.

She couldn't care less about any of that; she had promised Shen that she would return before the ninth day of the twelfth lunar month, and there were still nine days left.

She planned to infiltrate the Blood Hall within nine days, find Chen Beixuan, kill him, and then rush back to Luojing.

Time was tight, but she had done even tighter tasks before.

Liangzhou City is located on the northwestern border of Daliang. It is an old city that has been eroded by wind and sand for hundreds of years.

The city wall is made of rammed earth, and it has been eroded by the wind and rain of the years, making it pitted and uneven, like an old man's face, covered with wrinkles and scars.

The streets in the city are narrow and winding, and the houses on both sides are low and dilapidated, with mud walls and mud tile roofs. When the wind blows, the streets are filled with yellow sand.

Su Jiuge arrived in Liangzhou at dusk.

Instead of entering through the city gate, she found a gap in the collapsed city wall and climbed over, landing in an abandoned residential area. There, she changed into a set of drab, coarse cloth clothes, loosened her hair, braided it into a plait, and her expression changed from cold and hard to wooden.

Assassins from the Dark Pavilion always change their demeanor. Now, she is no longer a ruthless owl, but a silly girl from the countryside who came to Liangzhou to visit relatives. Her eyes are dull, her lips are slightly parted, and she walks with a slight hunchback, stopping from time to time to look around, like a lost lamb.

The headquarters of the Blood Hall is located in an old house in the north of the city. This house originally belonged to a wealthy merchant from Liangzhou. The merchant was killed by Chen Beixuan, and the house was seized and transformed into the Blood Hall's headquarters.

From the outside, it looked no different from the surrounding houses, with the same mud walls, tiled roofs, and dilapidated appearance. But inside, it was a completely different world. The house had been renovated and contained a council hall, training grounds, armory, prison cells, and even a secret passage leading out of the city.

Su Jiuge spent three days figuring out the Blood Hall's true strength. The intelligence on the Thousand Machine Tower was already detailed enough; what she needed was information not found in the intelligence.

On the third night, she crawled into the drainage ditch of the Blood Hall. People from the Dark Pavilion were all skilled at navigating waterways. Liangzhou was arid and received little rain, so the drainage ditch was much narrower and cleaner than those in Luoyang and Yanzhou. She had to squeeze through sideways, and after crawling for almost the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, she emerged from the sink behind the kitchen, soaking wet. She crouched in the shadows of the kitchen, observing her surroundings.

The Blood Hall's security was much looser than the Dark Pavilion's, with fewer patrols, longer shift changes, and more casually placed sentries.

Chen Beixuan served as the deputy head of the Dark Pavilion for over a decade, overseeing administration and resources, not combat and training. His understanding of security was far inferior to that of Hades.

This is why Su Jiuge dared to come alone. It's not because she's stronger than Chen Beixuan, but because Chen Beixuan doesn't understand.

She crouched in the shadows of the kitchen for about half an hour, memorizing the patrol route, the location of the sentries, and the guard shift change times for the night. Just as she was about to get up and leave, a hand reached out from behind and covered her mouth.

Su Jiuge's body reacted instantly—she drew her sword with her right hand and thrust the tip of the blade toward the abdomen of the person behind her.

Her speed was astonishing; in the blink of an eye, the tip of the knife had pierced the man's clothing. But the knife stopped abruptly. Because the man spoke.

"it's me."

Two words, spoken in a hoarse and aged voice, with a faint hint of alcohol. Su Jiuge had heard this voice for four years; it was etched into her bones, dissolved in her blood, and she would recognize it even if it turned to ashes.

Ghost hands.

Su Jiuge's pupils contracted sharply, and the tip of the knife stopped on the fabric of the ghost hand, just an inch away from piercing it.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, not from fear or tension, but from an emotion she had never experienced in sixteen years, something she couldn't even explain, like a ladle of water suddenly poured into a pot of boiling oil, causing it to explode.

The ghostly hand released her mouth, raised a finger and pressed it to her lips, signaling her to be quiet.

He was still wearing that faded gray cloth robe, with the short knife hanging at his waist. His face was gaunt, his eyes were sunken, and he looked much older than when he was in the Dark Pavilion.

But his eyes remained the same—narrow and deep, like two dry wells, bottomless.

He took Su Jiuge and left the Blood Hall.

The two people walked silently across the rooftops of Liangzhou City, one after the other. After leaving the city and walking for about five miles, they arrived at an abandoned local temple outside the city.

The temple was small, with only one main hall. The clay statue of the Earth God at the entrance was missing half its head and its left hand, standing there forlornly like a forgotten tree stump. The moonlight shone on the dilapidated temple, bathing everything in a pale, eerie glow.

Ghost Hand pushed open the door and went inside. The hall was empty. The statue of the god lay on the ground, the offering table was missing a leg, and an oil lamp stood against the wall. The wick had burned very low, and only a tiny flame the size of a soybean flickered precariously in the wind.

A person was sitting next to the oil lamp.

Su Jiuge stood at the door, looking at that person.

He wore an old gray cotton robe, his hair was gray, his face was full of wrinkles, and his body was so thin that it looked like a skeleton, hanging loosely in the cotton robe, like an old loofah drying in the wind.

On his left was a wine gourd, so old that its original color was no longer visible. It was worn smooth and shiny, covered with scratches and dents.

His right hand rested on his knee, the veins on the back of his hand bulging, and his skin covered with age spots.

His back was hunched, his waist was bent, and he looked like an old man crushed by the years.

But his eyes—those cloudy, bloodshot eyes, like perpetually drunk eyes—lit up the moment he saw Su Jiuge.

Su Jiuge stood at the door, motionless.

She recognized those eyes.

She remembered it for sixteen years. From birth to age seven, she saw those eyes every single day.

In the ruins of the abandoned residential area, in the alley behind the City God Temple, under the dilapidated shed of the Land God Temple in the south of the city, through countless cold or hot days and nights, these eyes watched her grow up, watched her transform from a skinny kitten into a child who would fight with wild dogs for food, from an unsharpened blade into the sharpest knife in the Dark Pavilion.

An old drunkard.

Yin Wuji.

The man who had been dead for nine years was sitting alive in front of her.

Su Jiuge's legs felt like they were filled with lead, and she couldn't move them.

Her hands were trembling, from her fingertips all the way to her shoulders, so much so that she couldn't even hold the knife handle properly.

Her eyes burned, her throat tightened, and something was churning violently in her chest, like a wild beast that had been locked up for sixteen years finally breaking free of its cage and rampaging through her, causing her internal organs to ache.

"Girl."

The old drunkard spoke up.

His voice was still hoarse and indistinct, like sandpaper rubbing against a rough stone surface, as if he were drunk, or as if he had just woken up.

He called her "Yatou" (丫头), not "Ajiu" (阿九), but "Yatou".

During the years he called her "little girl," she was still a child who could cry, be afraid, and sleep curled up in his arms.

That was sixteen years ago.

Su Jiuge's tears fell.

She didn't make a sound. She didn't cry out or question anything.

Tears welled up uncontrollably in her eyes, streaming down her pale cheeks and dripping onto her clothes.

She stood there, looking at the old drunkard, tears streaming silently down her face, like a stone statue with its heart pierced through.

She thought the old drunkard was dead. She thought he was killed by the Dark Pavilion. She thought that the day she knelt in that dead-end alley in the south of the city, holding the old drunkard's hand and watching his life slip away bit by bit, was the last time she saw him.

She believed that every day, every night, every murder, every injury, and every time she crawled back from the brink of death in the Dark Chamber was to avenge the old drunkard.

She thought she was alive only to collect debts from the old drunkard. Now the old drunkard was alive, sitting right in front of her, and calling her "girl."

What about all those years? What about the people she killed, the wounds she suffered, the blood she shed, the roads she walked alone in the darkness—what about them all?

The old drunkard looked at her tears, but didn't come over to hug her or wipe them away.

He just sat there, his cloudy eyes glistening with tears.

"Come here, girl, come sit down."

The old drunkard patted the prayer mat beside him, his voice becoming much softer.

"Let me tell you slowly."

Su Jiuge did not move.

Ghost Hand circled in from the doorway, crouched down in the corner, and kept his distance from them.

He looked at Su Jiuge's tear-streaked face. Those eyes that never showed any emotion were now like a river that had burst its banks. All the coldness, ruthlessness, and invulnerability shattered in that moment, leaving nothing but fragments.

Ghost Hand looked away.

He didn't want to see her like this; she shouldn't be seen like this.

No one should see her like this.

Su Jiuge walked over step by step and sat down on the futon next to the old drunkard, her movements stiff, like a puppet being led by a rope.

She sat down, but didn't look at the old drunkard. Instead, she stared at the earth god statue opposite her, which was missing half its head, and tears were still flowing.

"When the people from the Dark Pavilion found me that year, I knew I couldn't escape."

The old drunkard's voice was slow and hoarse, like a riverbed that had been dried up for a long time, every drop of water squeezed out.

"I took down two of the three silver-ranked assassins, but I couldn't defeat the last one. I was badly wounded, but not fatally. I faked my death and fooled them. They left thinking I was dead. I lay there, watching you find me, watching you cry, watching you bury me on the highest mound in the abandoned neighborhood. I wanted to open my eyes, to call your name, to get up and hold you. But I couldn't."

Su Jiuge's fingers slowly tightened on her knees, her knuckles turning white.

"The Dark Pavilion's people are still nearby. If I make a move, they'll find out. If they find I'm not dead, they'll send more people to kill me. Then not only will I die, but you will too."

The old drunkard coughed a few times, his voice becoming even hoarseer.

"So I watched you bury me, watched you kowtow three times at my grave, watched you leave alone. That was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life."

He took the old gourd from his waist, uncorked it, and took a gulp, making gurgling sounds in his throat. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked at Su Jiuge.

"I lied to you, girl. I owe you something I can never repay in this lifetime."

Su Jiuge turned her head and looked at him. She had stopped crying; there were still tear tracks on her face, but her eyes were dry.

Those bright black eyes no longer held their usual coldness, nor the collapse they had just experienced; it was something she herself couldn't quite understand.

There is no anger, no relief, no forgiveness, and no unforgiveness.

It's something like, "You owe me, but you're still alive, and that's enough."

"You said you owe the world a debt."

Su Jiuge's voice was very soft, so soft it was as if she were talking to herself.

"You said you couldn't pay it back, and you asked me to pay it back for you. What exactly is that debt?"

The old drunkard remained silent for a long time. He placed his gourd on the ground, clasped his hands on his knees, and looked down at the back of his hands, which were covered with scars and age spots.

"The Dark Pavilion's leader, Hades, is my junior brother. He killed our master and seized the position of leader. I am our master's eldest disciple. Before he died, our master entrusted me with the Dark Pavilion's most precious heirloom, instructing me to take it with me and leave the Dark Pavilion, never letting Hades obtain it. I'm giving that item to you."

The old drunkard looked at Su Jiuge, his cloudy eyes holding a light she had never seen before.

"That wooden box in your arms contains the token of the Dark Pavilion Master—the Black Lotus Token. Whoever holds this token is the true heir of the Dark Pavilion. The one that Hades has is fake."

Su Jiuge unconsciously pressed her hand to her chest.

That wooden box had been pressed against her chest since she was seven years old. For nine years, she had never opened it, and she didn't know what was inside. She only knew that the old drunkard had said, "Wait until you grow up, until you can protect it, then you can open it." She had never opened it, not because she didn't want to, but because she was afraid.

"That debt is not my debt."

The old drunkard's voice lowered even further.

"It's the Dark Pavilion's debt. Hades usurped the throne, and in his hands, the Dark Pavilion became a killing machine, a lackey of the powerful. The Dark Pavilion's original rules weren't like this. The Dark Pavilion's original rules were not to kill the innocent, not to harm the loyal, and not to do unjust things. Hades abolished all those rules. The Dark Pavilion owes the world far too much."

The old drunkard reached out his hand, his withered, scarred hand, and placed it on the back of Su Jiuge's hand.

His hands were cold and rough, like a stone that had been weathered for many years.

Su Jiuge looked down at the hand.

This hand picked her up from the ground in the snowy night, taught her to recognize her first character "sky" in the late autumn when she was four, and stuffed half a steamed bun into her palm in the spring when she was five.

She thought this hand had rotted in the ground, but now it lay on the back of her hand. Cold, rough, but alive.

"Girl, I don't ask for your forgiveness. I only ask one thing of you—don't live for revenge."

The old drunkard's voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

"These past few years have been so tough for you. I've watched you suffer for nine years—watched you enter the Dark Pavilion, watched you kill, watched you get hurt, watched you carry everything alone. It broke my heart. Girl, promise me, from now on, live for yourself. Not for me, not for revenge, but for yourself."

Su Jiuge didn't speak. She stared at the old drunkard's hand that was resting on the back of her hand, remaining silent for a very long time. Then she turned her hand over and grasped the old drunkard's hand in return, holding it tightly, as if afraid he would disappear again.

"You're still alive," she said.

That's enough.

The old drunkard's eyes reddened.

He didn't shed a tear; he'd rarely cried in his life. But this time, he struggled to hold it in, letting out a sound that was a mix of a sob and a cough, and then he smiled.

As she laughed, tears still fell. One drop, two drops, landed on the back of Su Jiuge's hand, warm.

Ghost Hand crouched in the corner, watching this scene expressionlessly. But his hand gripping the hilt of the knife was trembling slightly.

Su Jiuge released the old drunkard's hand, took out the wooden box from her bosom, and placed it between the two of them.

The wooden box was dark, about the size of a palm, and quite heavy. The back was engraved with dense patterns—sealing runes. The old drunkard stared at the box in silence for a long time.

"Now that it's open, you are the master of the Dark Pavilion," the old drunkard said.

"This isn't the Dark Pavilion of Hades, but the real Dark Pavilion. The earliest rules of the Dark Pavilion were: do not kill the innocent, do not harm the loyal, and do not commit unjust acts. The one who inherits the Black Lotus Token has the obligation to rebuild the Dark Pavilion and restore its original purpose. This is a heavy burden; whether you take it or not is your choice."

Su Jiuge stared at the wooden box for a long time. Then she reached out, picked it up, and held it in her hand. It was cold and heavy.

I'll take responsibility.

Su Jiuge tucked the wooden box back into her bosom and placed it close to her heart.

The old drunkard looked at her and smiled.

This time, his smile was different from before. There was no drunkenness or bitterness in it; it was a smile of relief.

"Okay." He said only one word. That was enough.

Su Jiuge stood up, looked at the old drunkard, and reached out to gently tuck the white hair that had fallen across his forehead behind his ear.

The old drunkard's body stiffened for a moment, then relaxed.

He closed his eyes and let her do it, like a tamed old wolf that could finally reveal its most vulnerable side to someone.

"I'm going to kill Chen Beixuan," Su Jiuge said.

The old drunkard opened his eyes and looked at her. "I know."

"Wait for me here. After we've finished killing them, I'll take you back to Luoyang. Back to the Marquis of Dingyuan's residence. That's my home. And it will be your home too."

The old drunkard remained silent for a long time, then nodded. "Okay."

Su Jiuge turned around and walked out of the earth god temple.

Outside the temple gate, the night wind was biting, and the moonlight was like water.

She stood in the wind, looked up at the moon in the sky, took a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled.

Then she reached into her bosom and touched the wooden box, the gold medal, and the jade pendant that Shen had given her. The three things pressed together against her heart, cool, warm, and heavy.

Su Jiuge walked towards Liangzhou City at a moderate pace.

Behind them, the lights of the earth god temple went out, and the old drunkard's coughs were carried away by the wind.

Ahead lies the Blood Hall, Chen Beixuan, the debt she owes to this world, and the debt she must collect.

From this day forward, she will not live for revenge. She will live for herself, for the old drunkard, for the debts owed by the Dark Pavilion, and for her mother at the Marquis of Dingyuan's residence who is waiting for her to come home for her birthday.

She did it for herself as well.