Nine Nights Owl Song

Ah Jiu didn't kill that thug.

It's not because we dare not, but because there's no need.

The old drunkard had taught her: there are costs to killing.

To kill someone, you have to dispose of the body, cover up the traces, and guard against retaliation from the victim's accomplices.

If someone doesn't pose a persistent threat to you, it's not worth the effort.

She remembered it.

So she simply gave that thug a lesson he'd never forget, and then let him go.

But what she didn't know was that the thug's screams attracted the wrong people.

On the second floor of a teahouse two streets away from the City God Temple, a man sat by the window, with a pot of cold tea and a plate of untouched melon seeds on the table in front of him.

He looked to be in his forties, thin, with a fair complexion and no beard, wearing a slightly worn blue robe, like a frustrated schoolteacher.

But his hands were different—those hands had distinct joints, long fingers, neatly trimmed nails, and not an ounce of excess flesh on the back of his hands, like two exquisite scalpels.

These hands have dedicated their entire lives to only one thing.

kill.

He is "Ghost Hand" of the Dark Pavilion, his real name is unknown, and his code name is everything. Among the Dark Pavilion's top assassins, he ranks seventh and specializes in recruiting new members.

In other words, he was responsible for finding talented children all over Daliang, bringing them back to the Dark Pavilion, and training them to be tools of killing.

Ghost Hand has been in Luojing City for half a month.

His original target was the old drunkard—his senior brother who had betrayed the Dark Pavilion thirty years ago.

But by the time he found the clues and caught up with them, the old man had already been killed by someone else.

The old drunkard was killed by three other silver-ranked assassins from the Dark Pavilion; two were killed in retaliation, and one was seriously injured.

When Ghost Hand arrived, the seriously injured silver-ranked assassin had just been rescued by his colleagues, leaving only a pool of blood at the scene.

Ghost Hand didn't rush to leave.

He stayed in Luoyang for a simple reason—he was curious.

That old man was once one of the strongest experts in the Dark Pavilion. He defected thirty years ago, taking the pavilion's most precious treasure with him. He's been hiding in this city for so many years; he should have left something behind.

Disciple? Descendant? Relics?

Ghost Hand wandered around the abandoned residential area and the southern part of the city for several days, but found nothing of value.

until today.

He heard that scream.

The sound came from the alley behind the City God Temple; it was sharp, terrifying, and heart-wrenching, like the sound of a grown man facing something far beyond his comprehension.

Ghost Hand put down his teacup, got up, walked to the window, and listened intently.

The screams quickly faded away, replaced by a flurry of footsteps that grew fainter and fainter.

Ghost Hand's eyes narrowed slightly.

He went downstairs, crossed two streets, and entered the alley.

The alley was deep, with moss growing on the walls on both sides, puddles on the ground, and a strong smell of urine and blood in the air.

Ghost Hand crouched down, looking at the pool of fresh blood on the ground.

The spurting blood indicates it came from an artery, and the small amount suggests the wound wasn't deep. The perpetrator either lacked strength or deliberately held back.

He walked a few steps along the trail of blood and saw a few splattered bloodstains on a wall, about waist-high.

This height...

Ghost Hand raised an eyebrow slightly.

He continued walking until he reached the end of the alley, where he found a series of tiny footprints.

Barefoot, very small, it's a child's footprint.

The footprints are not large in stride, but the spacing is even, and the force distribution of the stepping on the ground is very special - the forefoot is deep and the heel is shallow, indicating that the person walking always maintains a toe-to-the-ground posture, and can accelerate or change direction at any time.

This is the gait of someone who has practiced martial arts.

Ghost Hand stood up, his gaze passing through the alleyway to the small figure in the distance.

The corners of his mouth slowly turned up.

"interesting."

When Ajiu returned to the abandoned residential area, it was already completely dark.

As usual, she shrank into the hiding hole behind the low wall, pulled the iron plate from her waist, placed it within easy reach, hugged her knees, and closed her eyes.

She was not asleep.

She hasn't truly slept since the old drunkard died.

Every time she closed her eyes, she would hear the old drunkard's words—the Marquis of Dingyuan's mansion, the switch, the secret chamber. These pieces of information were like a pile of shards of porcelain stuck in her mind, unable to form a complete shape, yet they kept her from having a moment's peace.

The Marquis of Dingyuan's Residence.

She was not an abandoned baby; she had a family.

Her mother was still alive, somewhere in the city, living in a grand mansion, dressed in fine silks and eating delicacies.

But her mother was unaware of her existence.

In the eyes of those in the Marquis's mansion, the real eldest daughter of the Marquis's family was already dead, buried in the ground, and had become just a name on a memorial tablet.

And she, Ajiu, was an illegitimate child of unknown origin, a little beggar who fought with stray dogs for food in the ruins.

Ajiu opened her eyes and looked at the night sky above her, framed by the crumbling walls.

"I won't come looking for you."

She spoke softly, so softly that only she could hear it.

"If you don't want me, I won't want you either."

She rolled over and buried her face in her arms.

She didn't know how much time had passed when she heard footsteps.

The footsteps were so light that an ordinary person couldn't hear them at all. But Ajiu was no ordinary person; her hearing had become exceptionally sharp during her four years of internal energy cultivation, allowing her to distinguish the sound of a mouse gnawing on wood from several dozen feet away.

The footsteps approached from the east of the abandoned residential area, unhurried and with each step perfectly spaced, as if measured with a ruler.

Ah Jiu's hand silently touched the metal sheet.

She didn't move, didn't look up, and didn't even change the rhythm of her breathing. She was pretending to be asleep, using the corner of her eye to observe the direction from which the sound was coming.

A dark figure appeared above the low wall.

The man stood atop the wall, looking down at Ajiu huddled at the base of the wall. He remained silent for a moment, then jumped down.

It landed silently.

Ajiu's pupils contracted slightly.

This kind of lightness skill is better than hers. It's better than all the movement techniques the old drunkard taught her.

"Stop pretending," the man said, his voice flat, as if he were talking about something insignificant.

"Your breathing changed from three zhang away; I knew you were awake."

Ah Jiu slowly raised her head, clutching the iron plate in her hand, her body taut like a fully drawn bow.

In the moonlight, she could see the person's face clearly—thin, pale, and ageless, like a piece of dried-out old tree bark. His eyes were long and deep, like two dry wells, bottomless.

"Who are you?" Ajiu asked.

"You can call me Ghost Hand," the man said.

"I'm here to take you away."

I don't know you.

"You don't need to know me." Ghost Hand crouched down, looking Ah Jiu in the eye.

"All you need to know is that if you follow me, you will have enough to eat, warm clothes to wear, and you will learn martial arts skills that are a hundred times better than what you have now."

Ajiu stared at him, her eyes unblinking.

She could smell his scent; it was a mixture of metal and medicinal herbs.

She had smelled this scent on the old drunkard.

No, that's not right. The old drunkard's scent was stronger and more complex, as if decades of hardship and pain had been layered on top of it.

"You're from the Dark Pavilion," Ajiu said.

Ghost Hand's eyes lit up for a moment.

It wasn't surprise, but interest.

A seven-year-old child was able to deduce his origins from just a few simple words. This ability to observe and judge is not something that can be learned through training; it is innate.

"You know about the Dark Pavilion?" Ghost Hand asked.

"I know," Ajiu's voice was flat. "You killed the old drunkard."

Ghost Hand neither denied nor admitted it. He simply looked at Ah Jiu quietly, as if he were looking at something interesting.

"What's your relationship with that old man?" he asked.

"He picked me up and raised me," Ajiu said.

"So you hate the Dark Pavilion?"

Ajiu did not answer the question.

Ghost Hand suddenly smiled, a faint smile, like a sliver of light reflecting off a blade.

"Do you know why the Dark Pavilion wanted to kill him?" he said.

"Because he defected. He stole from the Dark Pavilion and hid for thirty years, and the Dark Pavilion searched for him for thirty years. The person who killed him was not the Dark Pavilion, but himself."

Ajiu didn't say anything.

"Do you know what kind of person he used to be in the Dark Pavilion?" Ghost Hand continued.

"He is the eldest disciple of the previous Pavilion Master, the number one gold-medal assassin in the Dark Pavilion, 'Blood Asura' Yin Wuji."

Ajiu's fingers tightened slightly.

Yin Wuji.

The old drunkard had never told her that name.

"After leaving the Dark Pavilion, he changed his name and went into hiding, transforming himself from a fearsome assassin into an old beggar who died drunk in a ditch."

Ghost Hand's voice carried a faint hint of mockery.

"How do you think he's fared these past thirty years?"

Ajiu remained silent.

But she already knew the answer in her heart.

Not very good.

The old drunkard was never happy.

He drinks not because he enjoys it, but because he doesn't want to live a sober life.

"How many years have you studied martial arts with him?" Ghost Hand asked.

"Four years," Ajiu said.

"Four years." Ghost Hand repeated the number, his gaze sweeping from Ah Jiu's face to her hands, then to her posture and breathing.

"What did he teach you?"

"Basic Internal Kung Fu Techniques, and some fist and foot techniques."

"What level have you reached?"

"The fifth floor."

The ghost hand paused for a moment.

The fifth floor.

The "Basic Internal Energy Cultivation Method" is the introductory technique of the Dark Pavilion, consisting of nine levels. For an average child starting from scratch, it takes eight to ten years to reach the fifth level. For a talented child, it takes five to six years.

This child took four years.

No, that's not right.

She's seven years old this year, and she was only three when she started training four years ago. What can a three-year-old child, who can't even read, possibly achieve?

In other words, she could only cultivate effectively for a maximum of three years.

Three years, fifth floor.

Ghost Hand stood up and looked down at Ah Jiu. Finally, a genuine flicker of emotion appeared in his dry, well-like eyes.

"Come with me," he said, his tone no longer an invitation, but a command.

"If you stay here, you won't live past ten. That old man has already laid the foundation for your internal strength. You're like a rough, unsharpened blade; leaving you here will only cause you to rust and rot. Come back to the Dark Pavilion with me, and I can forge you into a real blade."

Ajiu looked at him and remained silent for a long time.

Then she said something that even Ghost Hand hadn't expected.

"Can I kill you?"

Ghost Hand paused for a moment.

He had seen many children react to him – some cried, some ran away, some knelt down and begged for mercy, and some pretended to be crazy.

But never has a seven-year-old child asked, "Can I kill you?" after learning that he was a top assassin in the Dark Pavilion.

"You can give it a try," Ghost Hand said.

Ajiu moved.

Without any warning, her body released like a spring compressed to its limit, propelling her forward, skimming the ground. She gripped the metal plate in her hand, aiming straight for the ghost hand's Achilles tendon.

This is what the old drunkard taught her—when dealing with an enemy stronger than yourself, don't think about delivering a fatal blow; first, disable the opponent's mobility.

Her speed was astonishing; an ordinary adult would have no chance of dodging it.

But Ghost Hand is no ordinary person.

His body didn't even move noticeably, he just took a slight half step to the side, and Ah Jiu's metal piece grazed his trouser leg, tearing a layer of cloth but not hurting his skin.

Ajiu didn't stop.

Missing her first strike, she used the momentum of her forward momentum to roll over, flipping from Ghost Hand's side to behind him. The metal piece changed direction in mid-air and slashed at the back of his neck with her other hand.

Ghost Hand didn't turn around, but slightly tilted his neck, and the metal piece grazed his ear, shaving off a few strands of hair.

Ah Jiu changes again.

She jumped up, her feet landing on Ghost Hand's lower back, using the rebound to flip backward and create distance.

The moment she landed, she had already assumed a defensive stance, the metal plate held horizontally in front of her chest, her eyes fixed on the ghost hand.

The entire exchange took less than two breaths.

Ghost Hand turned around, reached out and touched his ear where several strands of hair had been cut off, and looked down at the few strands of hair on the ground.

Then he laughed.

This time, it was a genuine smile from the heart, as if I had struck gold.

"Interesting," he said.

"That's so interesting."

He walked up to Ajiu, squatted down, took a black iron plate from his waist, and handed it to her.

The iron plate is engraved with a black lotus flower, its petals layered upon each other, lifelike.

"This is the guide plaque for the Dark Pavilion," Ghost Hand said.

"Take this, and wait for me at the Earth God Temple in the south of the city at midnight three days from now. I will take you to the secret chamber."

Ajiu didn't answer.

"Why should I go to the Dark Pavilion?" she asked. "You killed the old drunkard, I should kill you all."

"You're right." Ghost Hand nodded.

"You should kill us. But can you?"

Ajiu fell silent.

"You can't even kill me now, let alone the others in the Dark Pavilion." Ghost Hand placed the iron plaque on the stone in front of her.

"If you want revenge, you have to become stronger. If you want to become stronger, you have to go to the Dark Pavilion. There is no place in the world that can forge a person into a weapon faster than the Dark Pavilion."

He stood up and dusted off his knees.

"Of course, you can choose not to go," he said. "Stay here, fight for food with stray dogs, scavenge for food in the garbage dump, and then wait for the Dark Council to find out about your relationship with that old man and crush you like an ant."

He turned around and walked deeper into the abandoned residential area, disappearing into the night after a few steps.

His voice drifted from the darkness, faint and indistinct:

"Three days from now, at midnight. Whether you come or not is up to you."

The footsteps disappeared.

The abandoned residential area returned to a deathly silence.

Ajiu stood still, looking down at the black iron plaque on the stone.

The moonlight shone on the iron plate, and the black lotus gleamed with a cold, eerie light, like an eye watching her.

She reached out and picked up the metal plate.

The metal plate felt cold to the touch and was quite heavy, much heavier than it looked.

Ah Jiu turned it over, and on the back were engraved two small characters—"Ghost Hand".

She gripped the iron plate tightly, her knuckles turning white.

She didn't show any extra expression.

She simply stood there, in the moonlight, like a small stone statue.

three days later.

She won't go to the land temple in the south of the city.

Of course she wouldn't go.

How could she possibly seek refuge with the old drunkard's enemy after the Dark Pavilion killed him?

But she had only one reason to go—

That is to become stronger, strong enough to uproot the Dark Pavilion, strong enough to avenge the old drunkard.

Is this reason sufficient?

enough.

Ah Jiu stuffed the iron plate into his bosom, pressing it against the wooden box. The two cold objects were close together, like two hidden embers of fire.

She looked up at the moon and whispered a sentence:

"Old drunkard, I'll go collect your debts."

Three days later, at midnight.

The Land God Temple in the south of the city.

Ghost Hand leaned against the dilapidated temple door, idly playing with the short blade in his hand.

He waited for almost an hour, thinking that the child would not come.

Then he heard footsteps.

It was very light, very steady, and neither too fast nor too slow.

A small figure emerged from the alleyway, wearing tattered clothes several sizes too big, with his hair haphazardly tied back and his face still covered in mud.

But her eyes shone like two cold stars in the darkness.

Ah Jiu walked up to Ghost Hand, stopped, and looked up at him.

"Let's go," she said.

Ghost Hand sheathed his short blade, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He didn't ask her why she came, nor what she came for.

All he knew was that from this day forward, the Dark Pavilion had gained another child.

And this child will one day make the entire Dark Pavilion tremble.

That's a story for another time.

At that moment, he simply turned around and walked towards the south gate.

Ajiu followed behind him, one step, two steps, three steps.

She didn't turn around.

The abandoned residential area receded further and further behind her, the old drunkard's grave receded further and further behind her, and the little girl named Ajiu who used to fight with stray dogs for food also receded further and further behind her.

Ahead lies the Dark Pavilion.

Hell lies ahead.

Ahead lies the path to sharpening a knife.