Nine Nights Owl Song

In the early autumn of the eighth year of Yong'an.

The summer heat in Luojing City had not completely dissipated. The weeds in the abandoned residential area had grown to waist height, and swarms of mosquitoes hovered in the low-lying areas. A rotten, sweet, and fishy smell permeated the air.

Ah Jiu hasn't seen the old drunkard for seven days.

This time, she didn't just wait around like before.

Starting from the third day, she followed the route the old drunkard usually took to find him—the City God Temple, the back alley of the East Market, the wine shop near the South Gate, and the beggar's den under the North Bridge.

She searched everywhere she could think of and asked every beggar who knew the old drunkard, but no one had ever seen him.

"That old man?" An old beggar with half an ear was squatting against the wall, picking his teeth.

"I think he got into a fight with someone in the south of the city a few days ago and was beaten up by a few men in black. I haven't seen him since."

Ajiu's heart sank.

"What kind of person?" she asked.

The old beggar thought for a moment: "I didn't see clearly, but he didn't seem to be a local. His accent was very strange, and he was carrying a weapon."

Ajiu didn't ask any more questions and turned to run towards the south of the city.

South of the city.

It was a place she was unfamiliar with.

The abandoned residential area is in the east of the city, and her activities have never crossed the central axis of the city center.

The south side of the city is the slums of Luojing City, not much better than the abandoned residential area, but it is crowded and dangerous, and it would be too risky for a child like her to go there alone.

But she couldn't care less.

She ran for nearly an hour, crossing half of Luojing City, and finally arrived at the south of the city before dark.

The alleys in the south of the city were narrow and deep, with low and dilapidated houses on both sides, sewage flowing everywhere, and the air filled with the smell of swill and urine.

Several shirtless men were squatting at the alley entrance gambling. When they saw a dirty little girl running over, they didn't even lift their eyelids.

Ah Jiu followed the main alley, asking at each house one by one.

Nobody knows the old drunkard.

As darkness fell, the setting sun withdrew its last rays, plunging the alley into darkness. A few dim oil lamps shone faintly through the cracks in the doors.

Ah Jiu stood at the end of a dead-end alley, his chest heaving violently, sweat streaming down his face.

She didn't know what to do.

She didn't even know whether the old drunkard was dead or alive.

Just as she was about to turn and leave, she heard a voice.

It was very light and faint, like something tapping against the wall.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Ajiu's hair stood on end.

She followed the sound, walked around a pile of garbage, and saw the old drunkard behind an abandoned stove.

He sat against the wall, his face ashen, his lips purple, and his clothes were soaked in blood, making it impossible to tell their original color.

His left arm was bent at an odd angle, clearly broken, while his right hand clutched the gourd he always carried, which he was using to tap the wall behind him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He was using this voice to tell those who came looking for him—he was here.

"Old drunkard!" Ah Jiu rushed over, squatted down in front of him, and reached out to touch his face.

The old drunkard's eyes were half-open, his pupils somewhat unfocused. Hearing her voice, he slowly focused and recognized her.

"Ah Jiu..." He opened his mouth to say something, but coughed up a mouthful of blood. The blood splattered on Ah Jiu's hand, warm and sticky.

"Don't say anything, I'll take you back." Ajiu reached out and grabbed his arm, trying to carry him on her back.

She was seven years old and much stronger than her peers, but the old drunkard weighed as much as an adult man, and she simply couldn't carry him.

The old drunkard grabbed her hand with a strength that belied his near-death state.

"Listen to me." His voice was hoarse and low, each word seeming to come from the very depths of his being.

"The person who killed me... was from the Dark Pavilion. They... have been chasing me for thirty years, and they have finally found me."

Ah Jiu's eyes reddened, but she bit her lip to keep the tears from falling.

"Dark Pavilion?" She repeated the name, as if she wanted to carve those two words into her bones.

"The world's number one assassin organization," the old drunkard said.

"Their leader... is my junior brother. Thirty years ago, I escaped from the Dark Pavilion, taking with me its most precious treasure. Over the years, I've been hiding here and there, changing my name and identity, finally ending up in Luoyang, in an abandoned residential area..."

He coughed a few times, and a trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth.

"I thought they wouldn't find me. But I underestimated the Dark Pavilion. They found out I was here and sent three silver-rank assassins to kill me. I fought off two, but the last one... I couldn't win..."

Ajiu's hands were trembling, not from fear, but from an emotion she had never experienced before.

It's anger.

An overwhelming outpouring of anger.

"Where are they?" she asked, her voice unusually calm for a seven-year-old.

The old drunkard looked into her eyes, and in those dark, bright eyes, two dark flames were burning.

"You want to avenge me?" The old drunkard laughed, a bitter laugh.

"You're only seven years old, and your internal energy has only reached the fifth level. Killing an adult... is still a long way off."

"Where are they?" Ajiu repeated.

The old drunkard was silent for a moment, then slowly took something out of his pocket and stuffed it into Ajiu's hand.

It was a palm-sized wooden box, made of a dark, indistinct wood. It felt heavy in the hand, heavier than a block of iron. The surface of the box was covered with dense patterns, like some kind of ancient seal.

"This is something I took from the Dark Pavilion," the old drunkard said. "Keep it safe, hide it well, and don't let anyone know. Open it when you're older and stronger."

Ah Jiu gripped the wooden box tightly and tucked it into the closest place to her body.

"There's one more thing."

The old drunkard's eyes suddenly became exceptionally clear, as if he were experiencing a final burst of energy before death.

"You are from the Marquis of Dingyuan's household. In the winter of the first year of Yong'an, on the ninth day of the twelfth lunar month, you were born in the Marquis of Dingyuan's household. Your mother was Lady Shen, the Marquis's wife. You were switched at birth and thrown into a mass grave. I... I was in the mass grave that night, waiting for someone, but I didn't wait for that person. I waited for you instead."

Ajiu's body stiffened.

The Marquis of Dingyuan's Residence.

She knew that name.

Who in Luoyang doesn't know the Marquis of Dingyuan's family? They are descendants of founding heroes of the Great Liang Dynasty, who have guarded the northern border for generations, holding significant military power, and are one of the most prominent families in the court.

Is she the legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Dingyuan?

Was she switched at birth?

The old drunkard's aura grew weaker and weaker, and the light in his pupils gradually faded.

"Ah Jiu".

He called her name for the last time.

"I owe this world a debt... one I can't repay. From now on... you... will repay it for me..."

He didn't finish speaking.

His hand slipped from Ajiu's wrist and fell to the ground.

The gourd rolled out of his hand, tumbled to the corner of the wall, bumped, and came to a stop.

Ah Jiu knelt before the old drunkard, motionless.

She looked at his face, a face full of wrinkles, ravaged by time and pain, yet it appeared unusually peaceful at that moment.

It was as if they had finally let go of all their burdens and gone to a place where there was no pursuit, no hatred, and no need to hide.

Ah Jiu reached out and closed his eyes.

Then she stood up, turned around, and walked out of the dead-end alley.

She stopped her tears and held back her sobs.

Tears are for the living; the dead don't need them.

Ah Jiu buried the old drunkard on the highest mound in the abandoned residential area.

That area was originally the foundation of a Buddhist temple, situated three feet higher than the surrounding area, from which one could see most of the ruins. When the old drunkard was alive, he liked to sit there and drink, saying that the wind there was pleasant and comfortable.

Ajiu erected a monument for him.

It's called a monument, but it's actually just a piece of blue brick picked up from the ruins, standing in front of the mound of earth, with three characters carved in stone on it: "Old Drunkard".

She didn't know the old drunkard's real name; he had never told her.

She knelt before the grave, kowtowed three times, and then got up and left.

After walking a dozen steps, she suddenly stopped and looked back.

The setting sun fell directly on the grave mound, turning the blue brick a dark red, as if it had been soaked in blood.

Ajiu turned around and walked away without looking back.

---

She did not go after the remaining assassin from the Dark Pavilion.

Because the old drunkard was right, she was only seven years old and at the fifth level of internal strength, no match for a silver-ranked assassin. Going to him would be tantamount to suicide.

But she didn't forget.

She engraved the words "Dark Pavilion" deep in her heart.

Three days later, Ajiu encountered a stranger on the edge of the abandoned residential area.

He was a man in his thirties, wearing a faded gray cloth robe, with a short knife hanging at his waist. His face was ordinary, the kind of ordinary that you would easily lose in a crowd.

He squatted by the ruins, as if waiting for someone.

Seeing Ah Jiu approaching, he stood up and smiled, "Kid, isn't there an old beggar here? The one who drinks all day?"

Ah Jiu's heart skipped a beat, but her face remained expressionless.

She tilted her head, looking at him with a blank expression: "What old beggar? There are plenty of beggars here."

The man narrowed his eyes and looked her up and down.

"You don't recognize him?" he asked.

"I don't know them." Ajiu shook her head. "I came here looking for food, but there are too many dogs here, and I can't compete with them."

As she spoke, she stretched out her arm to show him the scars on it—layers upon layers of old scars from dog bites, stone cuts, and burns.

The man looked at the scars, and the wariness in his eyes lessened somewhat.

It's perfectly normal for a seven-year-old child to have scars growing up in a place like this. There's no way someone like that could have any connection with that old man.

He pulled a piece of silver from his pocket and tossed it to Ajiu: "Take this, buy some food."

Ah Jiu took the silver, a greedy smile spreading across her face. "Thank you, sir!"

Clutching the silver, she ran away quickly, running very, very far until she reached the deepest part of the abandoned residential area before stopping.

She crouched behind a broken wall, panting heavily, her heart pounding in her throat.

The man's waist tag had a symbol engraved on it.

A black lotus flower.

The old drunkard drew that symbol for her when he was teaching her to read.

"That's the mark of the Dark Pavilion," the old drunkard said at the time.

"If you ever see this symbol again, run as far away as you can."

Ah Jiu held the piece of silver in her hand and slowly clenched it.

Her deep fingerprints were left on the silver.

She didn't spend that silver.

She buried it in a place only she knew, together with the wooden box.

Those were the accounts she kept for the Dark Pavilion.

The man who killed the old drunkard was from the Dark Pavilion.

She won't let any of them go.

---

Two weeks later, Ajiu met someone in the alley behind the City God Temple.

That person wasn't an assassin from the Dark Pavilion; he was just a drunken thug.

The thug saw Ah Jiu walking alone in the alley and, with malicious intent, cornered her in a dead end.

"Little girl, you may look a bit dirty, but you should look alright once you're clean." The thug, reeking of alcohol, reached out to grab Ah Jiu's arm.

Ah Jiu didn't run away.

She stood there, like a small animal cornered against a wall, her whole body tense, her eyes fixed on the other person.

The thug's hand touched her shoulder.

Ajiu moved.

She pulled something from her waist with her right hand—a sharpened piece of iron, which she had picked up from an abandoned blacksmith shop and sharpened with a stone for three days to create a one-inch-long blade.

The piece of metal slid across the thug's wrist.

Blood spurted out like a red thread, splattering on the wall.

The thug screamed, released his grip, and looked down at the deep wound on his wrist. The alcohol on his face instantly turned into terror.

"you--!"

Ajiu didn't give him a chance to speak.

She ducked down and slipped under the thug's arm, gripping the metal piece in her hand with a reverse grip, and slashed with her other hand—

The thug's knee was slashed open, and his legs buckled, causing him to kneel down.

Ajiu moved behind him, grabbed his hair with her left hand, and pressed the metal plate against his throat with her right hand.

The metal sheet was cold, and the inch-long sharp blade was pressed tightly against the skin. If it were pushed forward just a little more, it would cut open the throat.

The thug's pupils suddenly contracted, and he froze as if he had been struck by a pressure point.

He could smell Ah Jiu's scent.

That's not the smell a child should have—it's the smell of death, the smell of wild dogs, carrion, and people who have been on the brink of life and death for a long time.

"M-Grandpa, spare me..." The thug's tongue was tied; he didn't even know what to call the little girl.

Ajiu looked down at him, her eyes as calm as a stagnant pool.

That look in his eyes didn't seem like that of a seven-year-old child, or even a living person.

Like a heartless weapon.

"You're going to kill me?"

Ah Jiu's voice was very soft, like the wind brushing past the thug's ear, "Why can't I kill you?"

The metal sheet was pushed forward a little bit.

The thug felt a sharp pain in his throat, and a warm liquid flowed down his neck.

"No...no..." His voice turned into a sob.

Ah Jiu stared at him for a long time, so long that the thug thought he was dead.

Then she took the metal sheet back.

"Get out," she said.

The thug scrambled away, his leg injury causing him to stumble with every step, but he dared not stop. He ran forward with all his might, shouting as he ran, his voice sharp like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Ajiu stood there, watching the retreating figure flee in disarray.

She looked down at the piece of metal in her hand, which was stained with blood, dripping down drop by drop.

This was the first time she had ever laid a hand on someone.

It wasn't directed at a dog, or at an animal; it was directed at a person.

She thought she would be scared, disgusted, and like the storytellers described, her hands would tremble, her legs would go weak, and she wouldn't be able to sleep after killing someone.

But she didn't.

She even felt that, in that instant when she pressed the metal sheet against that person's throat, her heart was calmer than ever before.

That calmness felt unfamiliar even to herself.

Ah Jiu rubbed the metal sheet on his trouser leg to remove the bloodstains, then tucked it back into his waistband.

She looked up at the sky; it was getting dark.

She turned and walked towards the abandoned neighborhood, her steps neither fast nor slow, her back view thin and lonely, like a shadow forgotten by the whole world.

From today onwards, she learned two things.

First, her enemy is called Dark Pavilion.

Second, her hands didn't tremble when she killed someone.

She didn't know what this meant, and no one told her.

She simply kept these two things in mind, just as the old drunkard had taught her—to rely on herself is better than to rely on anyone else.