Chapter Six: Xiao Jiu

Xiao Muran had long known of his senior brother’s imprisonment. He had objected, wanting to rescue him, but his father had only sighed with a grave face, claiming he was powerless. Now, at last, Xiao Muran understood—this had been largely his senior brother’s own will. The Thousand Faces Sect and the Xiao family had ranked second and first in the world of assassins, their rivalry spanning generations, but now, it seemed, the dust had finally settled.

With the fall of the Thousand Faces Sect, Xiao Muran was to succeed as the head of the Xiao family. As he thought of his charming and delightful fiancée, he began to understand, if only a little, the feelings that plagued his senior brother.

Within the Thousand Faces Sect, Xiao Muran had no intention of slaughtering them all. The Xiao family was not like the Thousand Faces Sect. Those willing to surrender could stay; those who wouldn’t would be cast adrift in the martial world, to be visited by the karmic consequences of their own actions.

Xiao Muran had searched nearly every corner of the Thousand Faces Sect but had yet to find Ye Min. He had already spoken to his father about Ye Min, whose idea was to bring the boy to the Xiao family. Still, he had to ask Ye Min himself, but where had the boy disappeared to?

The Nine-Faced Courtyard appeared remote and simple, yet its terrain was so easy to defend and hard to attack that Xiao Muran could tell the occupant was a person of terrifying cunning.

When Ye Min entered the courtyard, he found Nine-Face quietly playing the zither. The music was clear and melodious. Nine-Face, dressed in white, sat with eyes closed, wholly immersed in his music. He looked nothing like an assassin—more like a refined young gentleman, perfectly capable of charming any young maiden. When the song ended, Nine-Face opened his eyes, looking toward Ye Min in the courtyard. “You’re here. How was that piece, my disciple?”

Ye Min stared at him with a blank expression, as though looking at a corpse.

Nine-Face didn’t mind the lack of response. He glanced at the bright full moon hanging high in the branches, rare in its clarity, though tonight was fated to be a sleepless night.

The sect master had withdrawn people from several places. Nine-Face knew then that his own time had come. He gazed at the living weapon he had personally trained, a hint of madness flickering in his eyes. With a sneer, he plucked the zither once more, the prelude sharp and urgent. At the sound, those lurking in ambush emerged into the courtyard.

Ye Min recognized their attire—they were the very ones the Thousand Faces Sect had dismissed. Now Nine-Face had gathered them here. Looking closer, Ye Min saw that most of them had vacant eyes, their movements synchronized to the music as they attacked him.

Ye Min wielded his sword, disregarding whether he might be wounded, heading straight toward Nine-Face. For every one he felled, more came, heedless of pain. Even when Ye Min severed their arms, they would rise again after a short while, expressions flickering between agony and confusion, but their actions never hesitated.

A strange fragrance mingled with their blood. Ye Min recalled reading in a book about a certain drug that, combined with a unique zither tune, could control a person’s mind. Clearly, this was the method Nine-Face used.

There were two ways to break this sorcery: beheading the controlled or stopping the music—or killing the manipulator.

Calculating Nine-Face’s position, Ye Min conceived a plan. Just then, someone suddenly lunged before him, their senses seeming to return for an instant. The man pleaded, “Kill me, please, Protector, kill me!” His voice was filled with desperate agony.

Ye Min hesitated, nearly getting struck. The man’s sword was swiftly knocked aside by Xiao Muran, who had realized he’d neglected this direction in the sect and rushed over in time.

Without hesitation, Xiao Muran beheaded the man, clearly familiar with the technique; his actions were swift and clean. He shouted at Ye Min, “What are you standing there for? Do you have a death wish?”

Ye Min snapped back to himself. Back-to-back with Xiao Muran, they found themselves surrounded by the controlled. Xiao Muran whispered, “Step on me and get up there—destroy the music. I’ll handle things here.”

Ye Min gave a tight-lipped nod. At Xiao Muran’s shout, the two charged in separate directions; Ye Min flipped backward, using Xiao Muran’s body for leverage, and shot toward Nine-Face.

Nine-Face did not resist. Ye Min drove his sword unerringly into Nine-Face’s chest. With a low grunt and a twisted smile, eyes filled with obsession, Nine-Face murmured, “My masterpiece…”

At those words, Ye Min plunged the sword deeper. Even as life left him, Nine-Face maintained his gaze; the cold on the sword grew sharper, freezing him solid. Blood streamed from his chest, and then, with a soft “crack,” Nine-Face shattered, shards of ice melting away until not a trace remained.

As the music ceased, the controlled collapsed. Xiao Muran stared in disbelief at this eerie scene. Ye Min stood, covered in blood—some his own, some not—sword in hand, his presence like a demon fresh from a slaughterhouse.

Ye Min had first gone to Six-Ear’s courtyard, then come here. Vengeance was done, but he now felt hollow. What purpose did his continued existence serve? He was but a remnant of that village…

He should not have survived to this day, and because of him, both his masters had met early deaths.

Xiao Muran bore some wounds himself, not as severe as Ye Min’s but enough to look bedraggled. He caught his breath and asked, “Hey, kid, would you like to come back to the Xiao family with me?”

For the first time, Ye Min’s vacuous eyes flickered with light. Xiao Muran was about to haul him back by force when Ye Min finally replied softly, “Alright.”

Beneath the main hall of the Thousand Faces Sect.

Wan Changxuan sat quietly at the side of Thousand Faces, who lay on an ice bed. A layer of frost inevitably gathered on his body, his eyes bloodshot from lack of rest; he looked so haggard he could barely speak.

Wan Changxuan held Thousand Faces’ hand all night, having already decided that once Thousand Faces awoke, he would take him away to travel. He would no longer be Xiao family’s senior brother; Thousand Faces would no longer be a sect master. They would be ordinary people, living out a simple life together.

He kissed Thousand Faces’ hand again and again. Thousand Faces, appearing merely asleep, gave no response. In helpless whispers, Wan Changxuan pleaded, “Little Qian, won’t you wake up? Senior brother has lost, senior brother was wrong, truly wrong. If only you’ll wake, I’ll promise you anything, anything at all…”

Thousand Faces’ eyelashes fluttered, a satisfied smile in his eyes. He moved his fingers slightly, making Wan Changxuan grip him tight and look up, voice choked. Just as Thousand Faces would ask upon waking, Wan Changxuan asked, “Will you spend your life with me?”

Thousand Faces thought to withdraw his hand and startle Wan Changxuan, but his body was too weak and Wan Changxuan’s hold too firm. Ultimately, he gave up teasing and replied softly, “Alright.”

Where Changxuan went, so would Thousand Faces. Thousand Faces was always Changxuan’s.

Seeing Wan Changxuan frozen in place, about to burst into tears, Thousand Faces quickly stopped him. “Senior brother, help me sit up…”

Wan Changxuan hurried to help him, unable to hide his happiness. Lowering his head, he kissed Thousand Faces earnestly. “Come, let’s go home.”

Thousand Faces chuckled, “Wrong. I have no home of my own. Wherever you are, that is my home. Husband, don’t you agree?”

The word “husband” made Wan Changxuan shiver. His eyes darkened as he swept Thousand Faces into his arms and left the cold chamber.

He placed Thousand Faces on the bed and, imitating his actions from before, gently tugged at his festive robe until it fell away, revealing a smooth chest, finally easing his worries.

Thousand Faces grasped Wan Changxuan’s hand, smiling. “What’s wrong? Husband, don’t you want to make up for our bridal night?”

Wan Changxuan’s heart ached at Thousand Faces’ pallor; any amorous thoughts vanished, replaced by helpless affection. He changed Thousand Faces’ clothes, then turned to prepare food in the kitchen. Thousand Faces, startled, grabbed his hand in panic, “Are you leaving again?”

Wan Changxuan was stunned, but squeezed his hand, “You’ve been hungry all night. I want to cook something for you.”

Thousand Faces pouted, “Then I’m coming too.”

Wan Changxuan could only give in, supporting him to the kitchen. Outside, Xiao Muran watched the two emerge hand-in-hand and teased knowingly, “Senior brother, remember to visit your family from time to time. I have matters to attend to, so I’ll be off.”

After Xiao Muran left, Thousand Faces cupped Wan Changxuan’s face solemnly. “Any regrets? Don’t regret it—opportunities like this don’t come twice. I’ll treat you well, and of course, I’ll spare some time to visit your family too.”

With chopsticks, Wan Changxuan fed Thousand Faces, “Eat. I’m still hungry…”

His gaze was meaningful, and even Thousand Faces blushed to the roots of his hair.

After Xiao Muran’s farewell, he returned to the Xiao family with Ye Min and the surviving disciples of the Thousand Faces Sect. From that day forth, the sect ceased to exist.

Ye Min joined the Xiao family at age nine. The family head admired him greatly and considered him a key protégé. Unlike the somber Thousand Faces Sect, the Xiao family was warm and lively, a true clan. With Ye Min as the youngest, everyone doted on and cared for him. It was the first time Ye Min felt the warmth of a family since losing his two masters.

At fifteen, Ye Min rose to first place on the assassins’ ranking. That same year, the Xiao family head, reassured, passed the family leadership to Xiao Muran, who, upon succeeding, also married his fiancée.

In the underworld, the Ghost Lord awoke groggily beside the Pool of Reincarnation, reeking of alcohol so strongly that even he couldn’t stand it. He intended to go change his clothes, bathe, and maybe trick the old man out of some more wine. But, stumbling over a discarded wine jug, he lost his balance and fell into the Pool of Reincarnation, vanishing without a trace. Truly, as the saying goes, a love of drink leads to disaster!

Meanwhile, in the mortal world—

Ye Min was now eighteen. Xiao Muran’s wife had just given birth to a healthy, chubby boy, bringing joy to the entire Xiao family. Yet, oddly, the child made no sound on arrival, sleeping deeply, his little body exuding a strong scent of wine that left Xiao Muran bemused. Only after the midwife gave the child a careful bath did the smell gradually fade.

Xiao Muran cradled the baby in delight for ages. His wife, weak and exhausted, could no longer bear his foolishness and roared, “You big oaf! Hurry up and name our son!!”

With that shout, the midwife’s worries for the wife’s strength evaporated. This was indeed the Xiao family’s matron—still so spirited after childbirth.

Startled by her outburst, Xiao Muran finally came to his senses. “Oh, right, the boy was born with the scent of wine. He must be a tippler by nature. Let’s name him Xiao Jiu—Little Nine!”

He then tickled the baby. “Is that right, Little Jiu?” But the baby ignored him.

The rest of the family, overjoyed, took turns holding Xiao Jiu. In their excitement, they forgot that Ye Min could not touch others, as his touch could freeze them. Instead, they urged him to hold the child as well.

Ye Min froze, awkwardly taking the baby, when someone suddenly remembered, “Quick, bring the young master back!”

But in the next moment, something astonishing occurred. The expected tragedy did not happen. The baby opened his eyes, looked at Ye Min, and laughed, grasping Ye Min’s fingers tightly and sucking on them. Ye Min, too, was stunned; his heart seemed to skip a beat, then race forward, and for once, a smile appeared on his usually expressionless face.

The exchange left everyone speechless with awe. Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Xiao Muran finally laughed, “It seems my Little Jiu and Ye Min are destined to be close!”